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MUST WOMAN EVER 

AND 

MAN NEVER FORGIVE? 

BY 

RICHARD UGHTFOOT 


LOS ANGELES 

ANGELUS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 



Copyright 1917 
By 

Richard Lightfoot 


DEC 28 1917 

©CI,A481464 


Dedicated to 
My Dear Mother 


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PREFACE 

In submitting my story, I am laying no claim to 
erudition whatever, and I therefore crave the 
indulgence of my reader as to the defects to be 
encountered. I am endeavoring, only, to faithfully 
portray the events of my narrative as they are being 
recalled from the past. 


The Author. 



CHAPTER 1. 

WARDS OF THE STATE 

OHN ANDREWS and his faithful wife, 
Mary, were a middle-aged couple who had 

always lived in M , in the state of New 

He was, at the beginning of my story, and 
had been for many years, a rather prosperous mer- 
chant In M , and had accumulated sufficient 

means to enable him to retire, as he contemplated, 
from business. Always living in the highest esteem 
of all who knew them In the little town where they 
had spent all of their married life. It was a valuable 
asset to any of their acquaintances to have 
known or have had the friendship of either of them. 
Indeed, their lives were generally accepted as the 
models, so frequently pointed to andheldup as worthy 
of emulation by every one. He had achieved his 
success in business by reason of his untiring industry 
and unquestioned business integrity. His honesty 
of purpose in all that he engaged, was the well 
accepted assumption of every one. Kind hearted, 
and with a most conspicuous generosity in all things, 
he was easily recognized as an influence for the bet- 
terment of the community. 

He and his wife were very properly known as 
very high types of both man and woman, — not only 
religious in the extreme, but Christians in the broad 



York. 



10 


WARDS OF THE STATE 


sense that made them factors, whether In the church 
or society of the little village. They had become so 
identified as necessary to the hearts of their friends 
that they were regarded as permanent and indis- 
pensable citizens. Familiar figures In every avenue 
of charity, their kind and loving hearts had 
gone out to relieve with their wealth, much of mis- 
fortune and misery. No task was too great for 
either when it came to assisting the poor and unfor- 
tunate; and their abilities to render aid were always 
exerted with such eagerness, that there was never 
any discount as to the motives actuating them in the 
accomplishment of the charity performed. Where 
would be the one, there could be found the other. 
They worked in social and religious life with greatest 
accord and harmony, and there was a continuous and 
unbroken thread of golden memory that their lives 
had woven around the hearts of their friends, that 
lasted the life time of those who came in contact with 
them. 

They were frequently referred to as being the 
more than contentedly happy couple of the town. 
And why not? They were possessed of more than 
a competence for the rest of ^helr lives. They were 
in fact, somewhat wealthy. Their home, though not 
elegant, was the most costly and pretentious of the 
village. They lived with all of the necessities and 
luxuries, incident to their station as to wealth and 
environment. By their neighbors, they were seen 
and known for their affection for each other, and 
apparently there was not a marring feature to pre- 


WARDS OF THE STATE 


11 


vent happiness being theirs. When numbers of their 
friends were entertained in their home, nothing but 
happiness seemed to reign. Every comfort was 
there. Their friends were legion in number. And 
yet, there was a spectre that stalked always across 
the hearthstone of their home. There was one ray 
of sunshine that had never streamed into or had 
entered their lives. There was absent a realization 
of the dream of both of them. There was more in 
demand than property and wealth and even good 
and true friends, and their hearts had the silent and 
constant yearning for the finger of time to touch 
them with the gentleness of God’s love. 

But, childless as they were, and with all hope gone, 
they had gone through their entire lives without 
murmur or complaint of any kind, bearing the bur- 
den of their mutual sorrow with real fortitude, char- 
acteristic of them. Oft times, when John would see 
the boundless love which his affectionate wife would 
manifest for children and had observed the fleeting 
shadow come across his wife’s countenance, a sigh 
of regret would escape him. Once, after his wife 
had relinquished her hold upon a little child, with 
which she had been playing, to its mother, he had 
seen a tear silently roll down her cheek. He had 
quietly at that time kissed her, without comment, 
but the incident together with others of like signifi- 
cance, was frequently called to his mind. As the long 
years rolled by, they had ceased to mention, or in 
any way refer to their great disappointment. Silence 
upon this subject was never broken when they were 


12 


WARDS OF THE STATE 


alone. Their mutual understanding seemed to be 
that though a source of sorrow, yet that it be not 
mentioned. 

Time, instead of becoming a solace, had rather 
deepened the yearning of each of them, for the voice 
that never came. They stood ready with heart and 
hand to welcome the one of their heart’s greatest 
desire. All that was necessary to make full the cup 
of happiness of both of them was the prattle of the 
playful child, that they could worship as their own. 
Their lives became and were beautiful commentaries 
upon the laws of Nature that see the uplift of God’s 
wish that paternity and maternity should be the real 
foundation of happiness for the mated and wedded 
in life. 

They had heard the call of the child, and it was 
irresistible. 

So, upon a bright morning in May, 18 — , without 
confiding in any of their dearest friends, they silently 
drove out of the little town in the direction of W., 
located about 20 miles away, upon the banks of the 
beautiful Hudson. To those who have seen this 
unsurpassable location, with its huge and more than 
picturesque bluffs, majestically towering over the river, 
far below, where is to be had an uninterrupted view 
of the winding stream, for miles, it can never be for- 
gotten. And, when nature has touched it with the 
luxuriance of vegetation of advanced spring — with 
its wide spreading and densely foliaged trees — and 
with the sunshine and glow in its warmth for the 
season of growth, there is no more beautiful picture 


WARDS OF THE STATE 


13 


presented in all that the State of New York affords, 
than that which is portrayed upon reaching the crest 
of the hill of this little city. It has always been the 
show place of that section of New York and it is 
questionable, indeed, if there is its counterpart to be 
easily found. 

Our friends had reached the top of the hill in the 
afternoon of this day, overlooking the little city, and 
had stopped for the time being, to let the faithful 
old horse rest. Around them they could see and 
were enjoying their beautiful surroundings. As his 
good wife sat by his side, charmed with all they 
beheld, John pointed in the distance to a very large 
building, located quite a distance from the highway, 
saying to her : 

‘‘Mary, that is the Home.” 

And, indeed, it was the Home. It was the great 
and magnificent edifice and home of the thousands of 
fatherless children that find their way there through 
the kind hearts that hunt them out of the misery of 
poverty and neglect, which unkind fates had sur- 
rounded them with. Into this haven, the foundling 
and oprhan are brought in their innocence, in count- 
less numbers, where the gentleness and kindness of 
love that founded the institution itself, refashion and 
mold their little lives into avenues for coming years. 
And as one looks with a contemplation of the good 
done, and beholds this more than charming picture, 
the heart of necessity must swell with pride and the 
tear come to any eye, as upon the great playground 
upon the gently sloping hillside, there can be seen 


14 


WARDS OF THE STATE 


the playful little wards of the great state of New 
York, unmindful of care and at all times strangers 
to any of the saddened conditions that may have 
brought any of them there. Upon this receding lawn 
can be seen faces and heard voices that are evidences 
of the great smile of charity that installed them 
there. And, surely as the spectator beholds them, 
he is convinced that here, indeed, ‘The child is the 
father of the man.” Bright faced and lusty lunged, 
what care these little tots? There can be seen the 
orphan, the child of misfortune, the deserted and 
castaway, as they all play away the day with its sun- 
shine, complete masters and mistresses of misfor- 
tune’s overcoming. Their little hearts and faces 
were the ruling tridents of power that called forth 
the noble impulses of sympathy of humanity’s world. 

And today, as we recall a half century in the great 
strides of modern civilization, and realize how 
swiftly the accomplishments of reform have sup- 
planted the old, with the newer and more advanced 
ideas of benefaction, how hopelessly overcome must 
be every form of pessimism that denies the world is 
growing better! At the time of which the author 
writes there were only a few of our Nation’s states 
that extended legalized charities. The public insti- 
tutions of that time were only a few institutions of 
learning — and fewer of charity. The recognized 
public endeavor was concentrated in the jail, the asy- 
lum and poorhouse — each being hideous as the other 
with mismanagement and the necessity of their crea- 
tion. The taxing power was an instrumentality of 


WARDS OF THE STATE 


15 


corrective oppression. Energy of government sought 
punishment as the means of relief, and millions were 
spent in that direction, to hold the prisoner, and 
nothing to prevent his criminality and his created 
condition. Certain religious societies and organiza- 
tions, here and there, established charitable institu- 
tions, somewhat comprehensive in character, and 
many of endowment gave to the country the nucleus 
from which the afflicted and unfortunate secured 
succor. But so far as concerned the state, there was 
no effort at amelioration. The urchin of the street, 
the parentless child, was unmolested and permitted 
to take his rank with the weeds of humanity. But 
now as the American casually scans and views any 
part of his country, he beholds, not alone, the sup- 
posed eccentricities of individual charity, — the benev- 
olent and religious organizations dispensing it, — but 
he finds the strong arm of the law In Its great opera- 
tive power reaching into every section, however 
remote, establishing and maintaining not only univer- 
sities of learning in its varied forms — but everywhere 
the spirit of prevention. Not simply the jail, but 
the school In competition. Not simply houses of 
correction, but houses of protection. Homes for the 
aged and crippled, asylums for the blind, — orphan- 
ages and foundling institutions and homes for every 
form of misery, may now be found everywhere with 
millions for their support by means of the taxing 
power. 

The rescue of the child has become the source of 
greatest legislative and judicial activity and concern. 


16 


WARDS OF THE STATE 


within the last quarter of a century. The reader must 
marvel at the accomplishments of adoption through- 
out the land as one of the incidents of the charity 
of the state, when it is learned that intelligent search 
is so constantly made by the law for homes for the 
waifs of the land. And, too, he must stand in 
greatest admiration, when he realizes the magnifi- 
cence of effort in that behalf. 

It was such an institution, to which John Andrews 
and his wife had gone, as our story begins. They 
were endeavoring to supply that which their lives 
lacked, by seeking some object upon which to lavish 
the pent up affections that time had stored in their 
kindly hearts. 

They now followed the long and winding drive- 
way leading to the main building. Upon each side 
of them were upturned faces and interested eyes of 
hundreds of little wards. Some, with timidity, 
approached with apparent shyness; while some, 
bolder than others, ran toward them. Now and then 
some mischievous and unafraid boy would call out to 
them as they proceeded, his cries being succeeded 
with a great chorus of laughter at the youthful 
banter. But with all of them, there was innocence 
and happiness. 

After the visitors had been ushered into the office 
of the management and their registration and appli- 
cation for adoption had been entered, they were 
shown over the building and finally conducted to the 
great lawn where the little tots of humanity were at 
play. It happened to be the close of the school day 


WARDS OF THE STATE 


17 


and a very large number could, therefore, be seen 
there. Subject to approval and official sanction, a 
selection was permitted, as is customary. They were 
undecided as to choice, as to whether boy or girl 
should be selected, but John, however, had conceded 
this right to his wife. 

They had walked through avenues of youngsters 
and were standing in conversation with the attend- 
ant. While here, a little, dark haired and eyed girl 
of about four years of age, came running up to Mrs. 
Andrews and, playfully catching hold of her dress, 
at once attracted her attention. As she looked down 
into the innocent countenance of the child, Mary 
reached down and took her into her arms. It was 
but a short time until the velvety touhces of little 
hands made themselves felt in the tenderness of their 
caresses. The little hugs as it nestled her little round 
face against Mary’s, met the motherly response. 
Mary sat down upon a bench, near by, with her cap- 
tive in her arms. She remained so seated while John 
and the attendant continued their walk, being fol- 
lowed by the very large army of youngsters. They 
were gone only a few minutes. Upon their return, 
the little child had fallen asleep in her arms and she 
was looking Intently into the little face, evidencing 
the peace of Its slumber. As they reached her, John 
could easily discern the change in his wife’s counte- 
nance. Transition had taken place. There was a 
beaming love he had never seen there before. Her 
eyes were slightly bedimmed with tears that told the 
story. 


18 


WARDS OF THE STATE 


“John,” she said, “this Is my little girl. She is 
my choice for our daughter.” 

And so it was. The silent love of the cry for 
motherhood now had Its way. The heart had quick- 
ened into early affection for both the woman and 
child. The little hands had won a conquest of baby 
love and John Andrews and his wife, Mary, had 
found the object of their search. 

It was necessary that the petition for legal adop- 
tion should be passed upon by a court of competent 
jurisdiction at the county seat of the county, before 
the law was complied with; and there were several 
days of delay intervening before the child could be 
turned over to the newly found parents. But after 
all legal requirements had been complied with by the 
court, nothing remained to be done but bestow the 
name upon the little girl, which the court did in a 
most kindly way by saying: 

“Well, since you leave it to me, I will give her 
the name of my little daughter, and we will call her: 
“Mildred Andrews.” 


CHAPTER II. 

THE NEW HOME 

PON the return of John and Mary to 

M with little Mildred, she very soon 

had been installed with all the honors and 
graces of mistress of her new home. Her advent 
not only came as a great surprise to their neighbors 
and friends, but she equally became, at once, the 
much made of and talked of acquisition to the town. 
Those who knew them intimately could consistently 
prophesy the happiness in store for both of the now 
fond parents. 

As the days passed into weeks and months, their 
love very naturally grew until they found the attach- 
ment so strong, and so much of happiness was begin- 
ning to be evident, that they each frequently won- 
dered to the other that they had not taken the same 
step long before. They had easily and early begun 
that labor of love that comes to parentage, of plan- 
ning for the child’s future. Their ambition in that 
direction became the all absorbing topic of conver- 
sation between them. John had now disposed of 

his entire business interests in M , and they were 

the possessors of no property aside from their sav- 
ings and some considerable securities and their home. 

With more than commendable wish that Mildred 
should never know the story of her parentage, both 
had cautioned, though unnecessarily, their neighbors. 




20 


THE NEW HOME 


with a view of secrecy being maintained upon that 
question. Yet, with their ever increasing affection 
for little Mildred, after much quiet discussion, it was 
determined that the best and surest safeguard for 
that purpose would be the selection of a new home, 
where with greater security from the child ever 
learning the truth, they could let her grow Into 
womanhood. It was a most trying ordeal and sacri- 
fice for them to make. Their entire married life had 
been spent there, and, as near as could be. It had been 
a real home to them. To sever the ties of friend- 
ship that had taken years to create, was no small 
task. They each knew that many a heart ache, as 
well as tears, would result upon their part — and 
knew, too, that the sincerest regrets would be experi- 
enced by their old friends upon the occasion of their 
leave taking. But, in their hearts, the spark was 
now glowing and growing Into considerate love for 
Mildred and they determined upon leaving M . 

When John Andrews and his wife sought a new 
home, after leaving the good state of New York, 

they finally settled upon C , In the state of I , 

as a choice of many. In which to live. C was, 

at that time, a beautiful little town of about 3000 
inhabitants, located on one of the state’s largest rail- 
way lines. Its chief recommendation was found in 
the fact that it was known as a university town. It 

being the home of the W University, which is 

located there. A more attractive little city In which 
to live could not be found throughout the state. 
Noted for Its many beautiful homes. Its wide, well 


THE NEW HOME 


21 


paved and shaded streets and driveways, it never 
failed to please the stranger who might have been 
in search of all the pleasant environments that may 
be required for the home. The inhabitants consisted 
very largely of either wealthy business men or of 
those who had become citizens for the purpose of 
taking advantage of the educational advantages 
offered by reason of it being the seat of learning it 
had become. 

The refined citizenship it contained, with the com- 
mendably high standards held up in a social way 
(doubtless the result of the influences of the institu- 
tion of learning itself), had long ago made it well 
and favorably known among all of the state’s munici- 
palities. No such thing as a saloon had ever been 
known within its borders. It therefore, very natur- 
ally, had become and was a town where the law was 
supreme and violations of it were few in number. 
Its claims were exceedingly pretentious along these 
lines, and in the main somewhat justifiably so. 

Of necessity, more than 1200 students each year 
attending the university, it became a town of board- 
ing houses, liberally patronized. These institutions, 
while thriving during the scholastic year, were cor- 
respondingly devoid of patronage during the vaca- 
tion period. When the student came, with the begin- 
ning of each fall term, and the boarding houses were 
filled, he became an important factor of the little 
town in many ways. He became at once a most 
material contributor to the prosperity of the town 
by reason of the money he spent, and signally, too. 


22 


THE NEW HOME 


he added to the liveliness of the population as well 
as increasing it. Then, too, he became a most inter- 
esting element, as well as the greatest annoyance to 
the small police force maintained. When once upon 
the rampage, as is true of all small college towns, 
there was no controlling him. Numerically so strong, 
they often tantalizingly became sources of pleasing 
nuisances with their increasing pranks and outbursts 
of deviltry. It was not infrequently the case that riots 
occurred, necessitating the aid of citizens in order 
that they should be suppressed. On many occasions, 
however, it would have required many companies of 
the state militia to have overawed or subdued them. 
For the most part, however, their pranks were harm- 
less. They made life a great burden for the post- 
master, it is true. On different occasions they would 
mischievously march in a body to the little post- 
office, and one after another approach the window 
and brutally ask : “Anything for ME?” But upon 
the whole, with the exceptions of the postmaster and 
the poor town marshal, the students were generally 
liked by the townsfolk and were welcomed when they 
came, and their departure equally regretted, for with 
the coming of vacation there also came the intense 
dullness of the summer months. 

John Andrews had bought a home there upon first 
moving to the town, upon one of the principal resi- 
dential streets, and together with his wife and little 
Mildred began a life of pleasing contentment among 
newly found friends. 

It was not long after their advent to the place that 


THE NEW HOME 


23 


John, unusued to a life of Idleness, found himself 
back in business again, and giving himself over to 
the cares of the merchant, as formerly. He had 
bought out one of the largest grocery stores of the 
town, and at once became active In its management. 

Nor was it long until his sterling qualities as a 
man made for him the name of a most highly respect- 
able citizen among those who knew him. And It was 
equally to be said and was true of his wife, that she 
was just as successful in making a similarly good 
Impression upon her acquaintances. She had entered 
actively into church work, as she had always done, 
and had become one of the important members of 
the Presbyterian church of C . 

It was here that their little child began her life 
that her parents commenced to so jealously guard. 
With her decided infancy upon coming, she was 
unable, as she grew up, to remember anything as to 
where her parents formerly lived, and she was per- 
mitted to remain in Ignorance throughout her life 
as to her relationship and home. 

As the years came and went, she became an apt 
pupil In her youthful school work and In finding a 
most permanent and warm place in the hearts of 
her parents. Early, her mother began the needed 
lessons of training that followed her into her after 
life. If they were considerate and tender in their 
affections for her, there was formed a reflection in 
the response of the sweet faced child In her obedience 
and love which she manifested for them. 

With no particularly great precocity shown, as the 


24 


THE NEW HOME 


years came, yet her mentality was at once recognized 
by those with whom she came in contact. At the 
age of ten she had shown a most marked interest in 
music, the tendency in that direction being properly 
cared for by her parents. But though early indi- 
cating a fondness for music, she became a studious 
girl in all other respects, so that when she reached 
the age of fourteen she was permitted to enter, upon 
qualifications shown, the university. 

With her youthful acquaintances she was justly 
popular. Though possessed of sufficient pride as a 
girl, she made friends easily. Her kindliness of dis- 
position appealed always to her school mates and 
friends. As a child she had been taught to be gener- 
ous and it grew upon her instead of disappearing. 
With remarkably good health, in both mind and 
body, she was of a most cheerful disposition, fond 
of enjoyments and indulging in girlish amusements 
that were natural to one of her years. 

Her father had provided her with a reliable and 
gentle saddle horse, and she had become a graceful 
rider. She very much admired her horse, and spent 
much time upon the delightful roads of the com- 
munity. Devoted, too, to her dog, “Joy,” the trio 
could be frequently seen upon the roads and streets 
as they would go and come from her beautiful home. 
Everything her heart could desire was had without 
even the asking by her. Without unduly humoring 
her, she was supplied with all the things her station 
and environments called for. Happy in disposition, 
her very presence was a great charm to her parents. 


THE NEW HOME 


25 


Often going to her father’s store and waiting for 
him in order to drive him home, or to walk with 
him at the close of the business day, she became a 
familiar figure to and was well known by many of 
the citizens of the town. As she would be seen 
catching hold of his hand, swinging affectionately 
and playfully as she accompanied him, it was a pleas- 
ing picture to others and served to add to the great 
affection the good man had for her. 

He thought she could speak the word ‘Father” in 
a dearer way than any other lips ever could have 
pronounced it, and when the soft voiced girl said 
‘Mother,” that there was an added love to all that 
the significance of the word could convey. With her 
never failing to manifest for both of them her affec- 
tion, Mildred had early filled the voids in their hearts 
that had prompted their adoption of her. With her 
arms around both of them as they would stand or 
walk, when seen at their home or upon the street, and 
particularly as they would attend services on the 
Sabbath day, there was a picture delightful to behold, 
when would be reflected all the intense pride and love 
they had for her. 

Soon Mildred had reached the age when she had 
ceased to any longer appear in short dresses, and 
when she had donned attire that bespoke her rapid 
advancement into young womanhood. She was no 
longer permitted to appear upon her horse now, 
unless with the long riding habit which she had so 
promptly declared to be a bothersome nuisance. 
Time and good health had added to the beauty and 


26 


THE NEW HOME 


charm of her young womanhood, and she had 
become the object of much admiration. 

At the age of eighteen, so industriously had she 
applied herself, with her naturally studious inclina- 
tions, she became a graduate of the university, 
with well earned and deserved honors as a member 
of her class. And the esteem of the institution and 
its faculty had been won by her by reason of not 
only her successful achievements and accomplish- 
ments with which she was graced, but also of the 
lasting impression she had made with the purity of 
a womanhood so worthy of admiration. 

There are doubtless very many, indeed, who now 
live who remember Mildred Andrews in all her 
charm of beauty as she was crowned and hailed as the 
May day queen by the more than 1000 students of 
the university, and who also remember a few months 
afterward as she appeared on the rostrum on the day 
of her graduation, as she received her diploma, and 
as she sat behind the great bank of flowers that sur- 
rounded her. No woman could have been more 
beautiful. With a little more than an average height, 
erect in figure, with dark and naturally wavy hair, 
with the large eyes that beamed with intelligence in 
all their beauty, a complexion that came solely from 
good health, and with a carriage as she walked that 
was most queenly, she was a magnificent picture of 
perfect beauty. On that day, as afterwards, she was 
the cynosure of all eyes — the greatest of God’s crea- 
tions, — a good and radiantly beautiful woman. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE SUNSHINE OF YOUTH 



ILDRED and her mother had pleasantly 
spent the summer months in touring the Pa- 

cific coast, and had returned to C. after their 

long journey, with added good health, as well as 
having enjoyed the captivating varieties of both the 
scenery and climate their trip had afforded. It was, 
of course, her first opportunity to get in touch with 
the magnificence of her own country, and in open- 
eyed wonder she marveled at all she had seen. The 
effect upon her, as properly it should have been, was 
most pronounced. She wondered that the American 
could so eagerly betake himself away from his own 
country when there is so much to be seen and learned 
in his own. Whether, far up the mountain side or 
upon its greatest heights, now and then in contact 
with snow in mid-summer, or whether in the flowered 
kingdom of beautiful California, or upon the inviting 
waves of the peaceful Pacific, during that time of 
the year, her splendid mind endeavored to compre- 
hend all that she had seen. Essentially a lover of 
the beautiful, and especially that which emanated 
from nature, her enthusiasm never abated at any 
time in all of her trip, when there was anything of 


28 


THE SUNSHINE OF YOUTH 


interest to be seen. It made little difference whether 
it was a mountain climb upon the back of a burro or 
on foot, she was always ready to actively follow the 
guide, and this was equally true when she had taken 
a long ride upon the back of one of the noted West- 
ern bronchos about which she had heard so much. 
With her mother comfortably stowed away at some 
resort, while she would take some of these various 
trips, she thoroughly enjoyed herself through the 
three months of their tour. It was therefore a most 
enthusiastic Mildred who had returned with her 
mother in the middle of September, in her unstinted 
praise of the great West. 

But delightful as had been her vacation she, with 
her mother, was more than glad to be welcomed 
home by her father. 

Upon her return there was no monotony that in 
any sense entered into the life she led. 

She at once and without any delay resumed her 
musical studies, both vocal and instrumental. She 
found time to Interest herself in much of the charit- 
able work that her mother was so actively engaged 
in and would often visit with the mother, when some 
errand of that nature was undertaken. Then, too, 
she found great enjoyment in visiting her father at 
the store. She began to receive the attention, too, 
of some of the young men of the town whom she 
had known, but always with the consent and sanction 
of her mother. 

But of all her pleasures and the diversions to 
which she most readily yielded, was the long horse- 


THE SUNSHINE OF YOUTH 


29 


back ride which she daily took, when the weather 
would permit. There was scarcely a road in that 
section that she was a stranger to, and the acquaint- 
anceship she had made with the country people, when 
on these jaunts, was such that she was very well 
known. Her father met many of her acquaintances 
from the country as they became customers at his 
store; and he had playfully charged Mildred with 
drumming up trade for him because of her penchant 
for extending her acquaintanceship. 

Through Doctor Larkin, a former Kentuckian, 
John prepared a most agreeable surprise for Mil- 
dred, by having purchased a thoroughbred saddle- 
horse from one of the friends of the doctor. He 
was a coal black animal of not only splendid pedi- 
gree, but was a very beautiful horse. The great dis- 
appointment that Mildred experienced upon his 
arrival, was that she was not permitted to ride him 
at once. But he was only three years old and had 
never received the training under the saddle that was 
necessary for him to be ridden. It could easily be 
seen that the horse was a very spirited animal — so 
much so that her father had some misgivings on the 
subject as to Mildred ever riding him. But a com- 
petent horse trainer was secured, who at once began 
the task of subduing any capricious temperament he 
might have. The impatience with which Mildred 
awaited the day when she should ride him, seemed 
to her intolerable. She would daily visit the barn to 
see the horse and was making great effort to get on 
good terms with him. The trainer would ride him 


30 


THE SUNSHINE OF YOUTH 


frequently upon the streets and near passing trains 
and puffing engines and had found no difficulty in 
curbing him. On different occasions, Mildred had 
been permitted to mount him; but he was led by the 
attendant and carefully watched by him. Mildred 
had insisted that she could ride the horse, but her 
father had demurred and required still further time 
to elapse before he would give his permission. 

One cool morning in October, after the man in 
charge of the horse had left the barn, the irresistible 
desire to ride the new horse overcame her dutifulness 
and deference to her father’s wishes. So, without 
the knowledge of any one, she deliberately saddled 
“Raritan,” as she had named him, and rode out into 
the street without any objection whatever on the part 
of the horse. At first, with some timidity, she exer- 
cised great caution to see that he did not get beyond 
her control. But as she took a roundabout way to 
one of her favorite roads, into the country, she was 
delighted at his gentleness. Getting upon the public 
road, she gained in confidence to such an extent that 
she had urged him into a canter. As she rode fur- 
ther, the combined pleasure that she found in the fact 
of his good behavior and his easy, graceful stride, 
afforded her intense satisfaction. She lost all fear 
and rode with the same ease and confidence as if 
mounted upon her old standby. 

She rode to the creek, where she had been so long 
accustomed to ride to water, and after letting the 
horse drink, turned and rode back toward town. 
She met many vehicles of various kinds, and even 


THE SUNSHINE OF YOUTH 


31 


passed near a moving train, but there was not the 
slightest Indication of unruliness. 

Becoming more and more encouraged, she resolved 
boldly to ride through the business part of town and 
call upon her father, and proudly show him how 
easily she could ride him. And so, following the bent 
of her Inclination, she commenced an easy gallop 
through the outskirts and Into the business section. 
She had proceeded down the street and was near the 
corner of the public square. Here her dream of “Rari- 
tan’s” trustworthiness was shattered. A brightly 
colored threshing machine separator had been left 
standing near the park fence, and as the horse was 
being ridden toward it he began suddenly to shy and 
then swerve from it. At first, Mildred was Inclined 
to change her course and avoid the cause of his 
fright. But she changed her mind and attempted to 
urge an approach to the piece of machinery; but the 
horse refused to go nearer. After repeated efforts, 
she involuntarily touched him with her whip. Almost 
Instantly he reared with her. She now struck him 
again — this time. Intentionally. This was seemingly 
too much for the horse, and he viciously plunged and 
reared time after time. By this time many persons, 
seeing what they deemed the peril of Mildred, ran 
toward her with the view of going to her rescue. 
But she waved them back, telling them she would 
control the horse. But at a time when it seemed that 
he was doing his utmost to throw her, by reason of 
his unruly rearing and plunging, a tall, athletic young 
man suddenly darted from the crowd that had col- 


32 


THE SUNSHINE OF YOUTH 


lected and ran to the horse. With considerable 
energy and effort he had succeeded in catching hold 
of the bridle rein. He had no sooner done so than 
Mildred called to him to let go. He refused to do 
so, whereupon Mildred said: 

‘T beg you to turn my horse loose. I can manage 
him.” 

Looking into her face, the young man replied : 

‘T fear you cannot.” 

Mildred somewhat incensed at his insistently hold- 
ing on to the rein, now said with some show of 
feeling: 

“I wish that you would turn loose of my horse’s 
bridle.” 

But he did not at once do so. 

Seeing his refusal, the high spirited girl struck 
him across his hand with her whip, with much force 
and severity. Without further ado, the young and 
would be gallant rescuer surrendered his hold upon 
the bridle rein and stepped away. The horse now 
became more unruly than ever and continued his 
misconduct with renewed vigor. Time after time 
did the splendid horse-woman lash him with her 
whip. Notwithstanding the efforts of the horse to 
throw her, she sat him with the tenacity and skill 
of an adept. The efforts of the horse began to 
lessen; but the whip continued to be applied by the 
fearless woman, and in a short time, amid the cheers 
of the crowd, he was finally conquered and 
Mildred boldly rode him up to the cause of his 
fright. Afterwards, she turned the horse’s head 


THE SUNSHINE OF YOUTH 


33 


toward Main Street, and the now thoroughly subdued 
animal walked up the street with the docility of her 
dog, "Joy." 

As she did so, another rousing cheer was given 
her, which was joined in by the young man with a 
very red streaked scar across his hand. 

Mildred was unaware of it, but her father had 
come upon the scene just as she had started home. 
He had seen but little of the incident, but had it told 
to him many times by the spectators. 

When he learned of the treatment which the ten- 
der of the young man’s services had met with, Mil- 
dred’s father had sought for him and offered due 
apologies for her conduct. The young man laugh- 
ingly said, however: 

"Oh, my dear sir, no excuses are necessary. She 
whipped and conquered us both with the same whip. 
Assure the young lady for me that I am just as 
humble as her horse.’’ 

When John reached home that evening, he could 
see no evidence of the imperiousness of will power 
that had attracted such attention to Mildred. On 
the contrary, he found a most nervously penitent and 
red-eyed girl awaiting him. No sooner had he 
reached the library upon his return, than Mildred 
came running to him, and throwing her arms around 
his neck, commenced with tears and broken sentences 
to tell him how regretfully sorrowful she was that 
she had so misbehaved. And though her tears were 
plentiful, she managed to say: 

"I know that I ought not to have disobeyed you, 


34 


THE SUNSHINE OF YOUTH 


father. But I just knew I could ride the horse, and 
I coud not resist the temptation. But you will forgive 
Mildred, won’t you, father?” 

‘‘0 yes, my child. But I do not see how I am to 
be able to pay the damages I am afraid that young 
man will ask for his injuries,” replied the father 
in a most humorous assumption of seriousness. 

“But, father,” she answered, “he deserved it. I 
told him to let go, and he stubbornly refused. Yet, 
I am awfully sorry, anyhow, father. Won’t you find 
out who he is and apologize for me? I know he 
must think that I am a most cruel hearted vixen.” 

When told by her father that he had already seen 
the young man, and upon being told the good natured 
remark that the victim had made, Mildred felt very 
much improved in spirit. She even remarked in the 
best of good humor : 

“And just to think! He was so very handsome, 
too! What was his name, father?” 

“He gave me the name of Paul Hanley,” her 
father replied. “He was not known by any one, and 
was evidently a stranger to the town.” 

When Mildred went to bed that night, there were 
two very strongly debatable questions presenting 
themselves to her mind that remained unsettled as 
she sank into healthful slumber. She did not know 
whether she rejoiced most at her being able to con- 
quer the horse, or as to whether she more keenly 
regretted her cruelty to the handsome stranger. 


CHAPTER IV. 

DOCTOR LARKINAS PATIENT 


T the breakfast table, very naturally, a topic 
of discussion and interest was the incident of 
the day before. And, too, there arose the 
question as to whether Mildred should continue to 
ride “Raritan.” After some discussion, the undis- 
puted subjugation of the horse so convinced her 
father of her ability to ride him, that he reluctantly 
consented, though it required numerous healthy hugs 
and as many kisses to win him over. 

From that time on she experienced no further 
trouble with the horse, and the two seemed to form 
a friendship that was a permanent one and which 
resulted in a great deal of pleasure to her. 

One day not long afterward, when Mildred was 
taking one of her enjoyable rides upon “Raritan” 
upon a country road, she was returning home and 
had stopped at a little house for the purpose of 
getting a drink of water. A little boy of about eight 
years of age was sitting in front of the steps of the 
house and had brought her a glass of water, at her 
request. She noticed that the little fellow walked, 
or rather hobbled, with great difficulty, and she could 
see that one of his legs seemed to be turned inward 
in such a manner that he was very badly crippled. 




36 


DR. LARKIN’S PATIENT 


“How did you get yourself so badly hurt, little 
man?’’ kindly asked Mildred. 

“I fell off the fence when I was about four years 
old,” the boy replied. 

“Well, did you have a doctor?” she asked him. 

“Yes’m, but ma said he didn’t know his business 
and he didn’t know how to ’tend to my leg, and ma 
ain’t never had the money to get no other doctor,” 
the child replied. 

Mildred had alighted from her horse and con- 
tinued to talk to the youngster about his injured limb. 
Among other things she learned that the boy’s father 
had died when he was a babe and that his mother 
was compelled to work by the day in order to make 
a living for herself and child. 

Upon remounting her horse, after waving the 
boy a cheerful goodbye, she galloped away. 

In less than an hour she was at the office of Doctor 
Larkin, her father’s physician. She was a great fav- 
orite with the kind hearted doctor and was greeted 
most cordially by him. 

“Now, what in the world brings you here ? Do you 
want me to go to see that young fellow you horse- 
whipped the other day?” he asked as he motioned 
her to a seat. 

“Now, see here. Doctor, I am awfully sorry that 
I lost my temper and misbehaved as I did, but it was 
all because of that dreadfully wild horse you brought 
over from Kentucky for father, and so, I think, you 
are half way to blame; and I want you to remember 
never to chide me again. 


DR. LARKIN’S PATIENT 


37 


‘‘But, Doctor, I want you to go out on the Hiller 
Road, about three miles, with me, and look at a 
deformed child, and tell me if you can do anything 
for him,’’ she replied to the doctor, and then con- 
tinued to explain the boy’s affliction as best she could. 

“Well, Mildred, I am at your service, and if you 
will ride out home, I will come by, by the time you 
have put up your horse. Let me ask of you, how- 
ever, that you leave that riding whip at home,” said 
the doctor as he jocularly spoke to her. 

A few minutes afterward the aged doctor and 
youthful girl were on their way to see the patient, 
consuming much of the trip in good natured quarrels 
without cessation, until they reached the home of the 
boy, who was very much surprised at seeing Mildred 
again. The doctor at once, tenderly and carefully, 
made a thorough examination of the boy’s left leg 
and his condition generally, with a great degree of 
seriousness. When he had finished and they were 
about to leave, he slyly left a dollar in the little fel- 
low’s hand, as he shook hands with and was telling 
him goodby, not knowing that Mildred had observed 
him. On the way to town, upon being asked whether 
he could do anything for his patient, he replied by 
saying: 

“I think I can, Mildred, but I would much rather 
perform an operation upon the doctor that attempted 
to set that boy’s leg. Of course, the ethics of my pro- 
fession would forbid my criticism of any other mem- 
ber of it, but if that long-eared specimen were here 
I might be induced to express an opinion of his 


38 


DR. LARKIN’S PATIENT 


ability, but you know the dignity of my calling makes 
me very careful and guarded in all that I say,” said 
the doctor, as he with mock seriousness, shielded the 
absent medico. 

“And, Doctor, what would it cost for the boy to 
receive the attention necessary for his recovery?” 
she asked of him. 

“Oh, about one hundred dollars,” he answered, 
with a smile, as he seemed to pleasantly think of 
something else on his mind at the time. 

“Very well, I want you to take charge of him right 
away and do all you can for him,” said Mildred. 

And so it was settled that Jimmy Parsons should 
be brought to the doctor’s private hospital, when the 
mother should consent. 

When the doctor drove back to town, he put Mil- 
dred out in front of her father’s store, as she 
requested. 

As she went in, she immediately hastened to her 
father’s desk, where she found him engaged in con- 
versation with a man whose back was turned to her. 
She had politely stepped away when she saw that 
her father was busy. But as she did so, her father, 
with a smile upon his face, at once called to her, 
saying : 

“Come here, Mildred; I want you to meet a friend 
of mine.” 

As she started toward him the gentleman turned 
and faced her. 

To her amazement and great embarrassment, she 
saw her would be rescuer. 


DR. LARKIN’S PATIENT 


39 


“Mr. Hanley,” said her father, “I wish to present 
my daughter, Mildred, whom I believe you have 
met before.” 

Acknowledging his pleasure at meeting her, the 
blush had come to the beautiful girl’s cheeks, and 
he instantly wished that she might strike him over 
the other hand. 

Mildred, partially recovering her composure, now 
said to him : 

“Mr. Hanley, you can never know how sorry I 
have been since that day for my rudeness to you, to 
say nothing of my downright cruelty. I know that 
you must have formed a dreadful opinion of my fiend- 
ishness in striking you, and I fear that you can never 
forgive me for it.” 

“Miss Andrews, I assure you that I got greater 
enjoyment out of the occasion than any one, not even 
excepting yourself. To have witnessed you conquer 
and at the same time to have witnessed your superb 
skill in doing so afforded me great pleasure. But 
as to my ever forgiving you for what you did to me 
with that whip — well, I shall be compelled to take 
the matter under advisement, and in the meantime I 
shall put you under a species of strict probation,” 
laughingly replied Mr. Hanley. 

Afterwards, they stood talking for a short time, 
during which Mildred’s confusion disappeared as the 
conversation progressed. 

While the trio were together, Mildred suddenly 
turned to her father, saying : 


40 


DR. LARKIN’S PATIENT 


“Father, I have two favors that I want to ask of 
you.” 

“Granted,” said her father, “in advance. Now 
may I ask what they are?” 

“Yes, father,” she smilingly said. 

“First, I want you to give me $100.00, and my 
second request is that you do not ask what I may do 
with the money.” 

Her father at once turned to his safe and promptly 
handed her a roll of bills. 

“You see, she holds the whip hand over me too, 
Mr. Hanley,” smilingly, he said, as he affectionately 
put his arm around Mildred. “By the way, Mil- 
dred,” he continued, “if you are going home right 
away, I wish you would take this package to your 
mother which she desires for the table.” 

As she took the bundle from her father, she 
reached over to him and kissed him, and then turned 
to leave the store. But before doing so, she turned 
to Mr. Hanley and said: 

“Mr. Hanley, I am very much pleased to have 
met you.” 

“But may I not walk home with you?” he politely 
asked, and then added. “It might be that I can more 
justly consider the extent of the term of your proba- 
tion, if you should so allow.” 

Upon her assenting, they left the store and she 
was escorted home by him. On the way, Mildred 
learned that Mr. Hanley and his mother were pre- 
paring to move to C. in a short time, with a view 


DR. LARKIN’S PATIENT 


41 


of permanently locating there. She found in her 
companion a most agreeable young man and enjoyed 
the short walk they had taken. When they reached 
the gate, permission being given for him to call upon 
her, they separated with the usual exchange of courte- 
sies incident to a first meeting. 

Before she slept that night, Mildred convinced 
herself, that there were two things she was really 
glad of. She was glad that she was going to save 
Jimmy Parsons’ leg, and she was glad that she had 
struck Paul Hanley across the hand with her whip. 

Bright and early the next morning, Mildred was 
at the office of Dr. Larkin. The negro servant had 
not yet finished dusting the office furniture when she 
appeared, but she had heard the voice of the doctor 
long before she reached the door of his office, as he 
was talking to his servant. 

“No, that’s just the way of it. There never was a 
nigger that crossed the Ohio River but that he became 
no account the moment he got on this side. Now, 
here you are, telling me that you curried “Joe” and 
rubbed him down. Why, that horse almost told me 
as he turned his head and looked at himself that you 

hadn’t touched him and I Why, good morning, 

Mildred,” he said, as he saw her at the door. 
“What in the world brings you around here so 
early?” And without giving her an opportunity to 
reply, he continued: 

“I was just talking to my first assistant here, and 
was just about to tell him what a blunder Abe Lin- 
coln made when he made the niggers up here better 


42 


DR. LARKIN’S PATIENT 


than a white man, when you came in. Come on in, 
Mildred, and let that dust settle.” 

Mildred’s mission was to slip $100.00 into his 
hand, which she soon did, for her little crippled 
friend. 

“Now, look here, my girl, that is carrying things 
too far. I was only joking about charging for that 
little fellow. Why, Pd put two brand new legs on 
him if you wanted me to,” and the good man felt 
that kindly toward the girl. 

“But, now doctor, if you don’t take this money I 
will never speak to you again. You do too much 
work without pay, anyway,” and saying as much, she 
tripped lightly down the steps, leaving the doctor 
standing at his door. 

After she had gone the doctor said: 

“Ike, don’t you know that girl is an angel?” 

“Yasser, boss, I’se done heerd dat befo’,” said 
the darkey. 

“Now, who in thunder did you ever hear say 
that?” asked the doctor. 

“I can’t zactly ’member, boss, but I think I have 
heerd you say it a few times,” grinned the darkey as 
he dodged the feather duster. 

The operation upon Jimmy Parsons was com- 
pletely successful, and several weeks afterward, the 
doctor drove up to the home of widow Parsons with 
the boy in his buggy. The mother came to the buggy 
and taking him in her arms, and seeing when she 
placed him upon the ground that there was no evi- 
dence of his past injury, and that he could walk with- 


DR. LARKINAS PATIENT 


43 


out difficulty, burst into tears of greatest joy and 
gratitude, which the noble hearted doctor, sitting In 
his buggy, saw with a beaming eye and smile of 
satisfaction. The good woman had more than com- 
pensated him for all that he had done. As she strove 
to make known by words her apprecatlon, he sitnply 
said to her: 

“No, madam, you need not thank me. Thank that 
girl that brought your boy to me. By the way, there 
is a little present that I want to make for Jim. Take 
It and let the little rascal go to school. What he 
needs now Is to commence wrestling with the ‘blue 
back’ speller. But I want you to distinctly under- 
stand that no one must know that I have given you 
this.” 

And he handed the proud mother the fee of one 
hundred dollars that Mildred had given him. 

With these words, after bidding Jim a cheery 
goodbye, the old doctor turned his horse toward town 
and drove away humming the only tune he ever knew, 
the first lines of the song being: “The sun shines 
bright on the old ” 

With the modernization of the profession that so 
largely has made it a means merely of livelihood, 
there may be a few men of the type of Dr. Larkin 
left, but not many. 


CHAPTER V. 

Mildred’s new acquaintance 

H aul HANLEY’S father had died, leaving 
his mother and Paul an estate of consider- 
able value, some two or three years before 
his advent into this story, among other things 
bequeathing to him a large interest in a successful 
wholesale grocery business located in St. Louis. 
They had remained at their former home at B. 
since the death of his father, Paul now and then 
making trips throughout the time after becoming of 
age, in the interest of his house in a territory assigned 
to him in the southern part of the state. There was 
another son, Edwin, who at this time was away from 
home attending college. 

Paul Hanley had received a collegiate education 
during the life of his father, and was now a young 
man of about twenty-three years of age. Tall and 
with the build of an athlete, and, in fact, being one, 
handsome to the extent that one would turn and look 
at him the second time, always a neat dresser, he 
never failed to pass muster with his pleasing and 
attractive appearance. 

He had led a clean and somewhat exemplary life. 


MILDRED’S NEW ACQUAINTANCE 45 


being given to no extent to any of the average vices 
that naturally beset the young man of this age. 
Above all, he was a most dutiful and affectionate son 
and was idolized by his mother. 

Since his father’s death he spent as much time as 
possible with her, and was all his mother’s heart 
could desire as a son. 

Not by any means was he considered perfect, but 
rather above the average, in manner, character, 
refinement and education. 

Upon coming to C. with his mother, he very nat- 
urally was a most interesting addition to its citizen- 
ship in several ways. He became a well liked and 
popular man with his gentlemen acquaintances and 
was very much admired by the other sex. 

In so small a town as C. he was not long in rapidly 
becoming acquainted with the people in a general 
way. 

He had within a very short time become a some- 
what frequent visitor at the Andrews’ home, and the 
friendship that had arisen between Mildred and him- 
self became most noticeable. There was no doubting 
that their acquaintanceship had grown into a mutu- 
ally high regard they bore for each other. 

During the first month or so conventional require- 
ments had made him somewhat formal in his atten- 
tion to Mildred, but as time wore on he felt himself 
privileged to dispense with all formality and come 
and go at any reasonable time as a guest at the 
Andrews home. 

Frequently seen in public together on the occasion 


46 MILDRED’S NEW ACQUAINTANCE 


of public gatherings and upon the street, the hand- 
some couple elicited a most universal admiration 
upon the part of those who saw them. 

During the winter months of that year he had on 
several occasions, been called away upon business 
for several weeks, but he had lost no time in making 
his appearance at Mildred’s home upon his return. 
When away, he never lost an opportunity to mani- 
fest his regard for her by some of the many courte- 
sies so appreciated by a woman. Some times he 
would send her some popular book, perhaps a box 
of choice cut flowers or some token of his friendship 
and regard that even a friendship alone will license 
and sanction. 

Once, when away. It was on his return to C. after 
an absence of several weeks that he had gone to Mil- 
dred’s home and learned that she had been accom- 
panied to a theatre by Frank Clements, a young 
merchant of C. He had remained for some time, 
as her parents were really very fond of him. 

He was entertaining in conversation and he never 
failed to have some pleasantry as to some happened 
Incident while he was upon the road for his house. 
Despite his effort, however, to conceal it, his disap- 
pointment at not seeing Mildred was plainly observed 
by the mother, who assured him that Mildred would 
be sorry that she was not at home when he called. 
He expressed his own regret with great sincerity. 

After he had gone most significant glances were 
exchanged between John and his wife. 

“John,” said his wife, “do you know that Mr. 


MILDRED^S NEW ACQUAINTANCE 47 


Hanley and our little girl are making rapid progress 
in their friendship for each other?” 

‘‘Well,” yawned John, “no greater than you and 
I did, Mary,” and with that he patted her on the 
cheek with gentleness and affection. 

“Personally,” he continued, “I like Hanley and 
think that he is an exceptionally fine young man.” 

“But, John, it would break my heart If we should 
lose Mildred,” she replied. 

“Oh, well, we will have it understood that who- 
ever marries her marries the whole family,” jokingly 
replied he, and then continued: “You need not 
worry. I do not think we are in danger of losing her ; 
I think that Hanley and she have merely become 
friends and nothing more; but why worry, if there 
arose a greater attachment?” 

It was quite evident to his wife that he was an 
admirer of Mr. Hanley, and so for the time being 
there was nothing further said. 

When her mother informed her the next morning 
at breakfast that Mr. Hanley had called, she scru- 
tinizingly scanned her daughter’s face to see what 
effect It would have. 

But without betraying any undue Interest, she had 
merely replied: 

“Well, I am sorry that I did not get to see him — 

“Mother, I had a most delightful evening with 
Frank. I think so much of him. He is such good 
company and so courteously attentive that one Is 
bound to like him. We went to the theatre and 
afterwards to Hewitt’s Oyster Parlor. I am going 


48 MILDRED’S NEW ACQUAINTANCE 


with him to see “Pinafore” next Tuesday. Oh, he 
is such a dear.” 

If she had intended disarming her mother, she 
had succeeded. 

Mr. Hanley came the next evening. 

Upon being seated in the parlor, Mildred said to 
him : 

“I was so sorry that I was away from home last 
evening, Mr. Hanley.” 

“Yes, Miss Andrews, but you spent a most delight- 
ful evening, I do not doubt, and with company that 
I most certainly respect,” he replied. 

“I did indeed. Frank is such an entertainer, one 
must be hard to please who does not appreciate him. 
But tell me of yourself. You have been away so 
much of late that you are becoming quite a stranger,” 
she replied. 

“I have been away, but that did not prevent my 
often thinking of how delighted I would be to get 
back to my mother,” he said with the same tone Mil- 
dred had used. 

She looked with one quick glance and fancied she 
could see a trace of a faint smile as he spoke. 

“Yes, I know she must be always glad to have 
you back. Being separated from those who are near 
and dear, whom one may love, is and must be the 
penalty of one’s love, I would imagine. You see, 
I have never had the experience along that line, 
except when we were away from father during last 
summer, but I know how glad mother and I were to 
see him again,” she said in a most casual way. 


MILDRED^S NEW ACQUAINTANCE 49 


He had undertaken to make the conversation 
wholly impersonal as applied to them, and her reply 
had materially assisted him along that line. 

During the evening she had entertained him with 
some of her music; and as he stood by her side turn- 
ing the leaves of the music as she sang, listened to 
the sweet voiced girl with a silent admiration of 
both her voice and her great beauty. When she, 
smiling, turned from the piano stool, she had not been 
slow to note his intensity of look. 

It was at a day when the phonograph was not 
employed to wheeze out its straining twang as the 
music of the parlor, nor had the player piano made 
its advent. As a result, young ladies were expected 
to draw upon the resources of their abilities as musi- 
cians in order to furnish entertainment. Doubtless, 
these remarkable inventions may have to some extent 
accounted for what is said to be a lessening of indi- 
vidual effort as musicians. 

But be that as it may, one might have some diffi- 
culty, whose love making was at that time, in getting 
in touch with the methods of the now, the stage 
setting of which is not complete unless with the phono- 
graph that sings its own love songs to the young man 
while the girl may leisurely watch the effect upon the 
caller. Then, too, the old timer, whose love making 
antedates the new invention, might, however, regret 
that he could not have danced with his girl in her 
parlor as the player piano or phonograph furnished 
the music. Yet, in view of every day observations, 
it may be confessed that these innovations have not 


50 MILDRED^S NEW ACQUAINTANCE 


had any appreciable effect in either checking or at 
all lessening the progress of love’s warfare. 

As these two young people sat throughout the 
evenings, engaged in attempts to entertain each 
other, there were no beaten pathways which they 
could follow, for every friendship and every love 
must blaze and pave its own pathway — some smooth 
and others rough and rocky ; some strewn with roses 
as boundaries, while others are bordered with the 
thorns and rocks of life. 

Paul knew that he was falling In love with Mil- 
dred. He had felt his admiration grow with most 
amazing rapidity. He knew, too, that his attentions 
had been received by Mildred with willingness upon 
her part. And yet he had never in anyway intimated 
that he bore more than a feeling of friendship for 
her. 

He had with some ingenuity of mind attempted to 
learn the position he occupied In the esteem of Mil- 
dred. But in this he had failed utterly — Mildred’s 
conduct and all she had ever said or done was only 
that which might easily have been the result of 
friendship. 

It is almost an undisputed observation that nature 
has so equipped woman with that faculty known 
as “tact,” that she can easily conceal her emo- 
tions and love for a man without difficulty. When 
man measures swords with a woman upon this 
question, he usually withdraws from the scene 
of the conflict with broken sword. Whether designed 
as an intuitive gift to her or not, yet it is true that she 


MILDRED^S NEW ACQUAINTANCE 51 


may read his heart with that corresponding ease with 
which she successfully baffles him in his attempts to 
learn hers. 

And it was true as to Paul and Mildred. She knew 
that he had purposely referred to his great pleasure 
of always getting home because of his mother. 
Though true to some extent, it was not wholly so. 

She had purposely made mention of her inexperi- 
ence as to ever being separated from any one she 
ever loved, or thought anything of, except her father, 
with the intention of warding off his efforts at pene- 
tration of her own armour. 

As a matter of fact, she knew his mind and was 
concealing successfully her own from him. 

During the time Paul remained at home, Mildred 
found herself by no means neglected. Paul became 
more and more attentive to her. 

She had other admirers, who were frequent visit- 
ors and whose friendship she courted. She very 
cruelly, often and intentionally, mentioned her great 
pleasure in being with them to Paul, becoming some- 
what profuse in her praise and of her regard for 
them. 

Spring had now come. She was almost joyous 
in her anticipation of again enjoying her horseback 
rides, which the winter and early spring roads had 
made impossible. When expressing her longing to 
Paul in this regard, she was agreeably surprised 
when he informed her that he had made the purchase 
of a very fine horse, and incidentally, of course, 
announced that he would be able to accompany her. 


52 MILDRED’S NEW ACQUAINTANCE 


She could scarcely suppress a smile, when he had 
so informed her. There was some humor afforded 
as she learned the news, as well as pleasure, with 
which she received this imparted information. 

She knew that Paul had never ridden a horse 
before and was amused when he had commented 
upon the efficacy of riding as healthy exercise, espe- 
cially when she considered the huge frame of the 
athlete standing before her with every evidence of 
the best health imaginable. What pleased her most 
was that the announcement was added evidence of his 
desire to be with her and his increasing regard for 
her. 

One day, Mildred met Jimmy Parsons and his 
mother upon the street. Seeing the bright faced boy, 
walk without a limp beside his mother, gave her 
great pleasure. While talking to Mildred, the char- 
acteristics of the womanly tendency, of women to 
talk, (and so often in a confidential way), mani- 
fested itself in her telling Mildred as to the kindness 
of Doctor Larkin in giving Jimmy the $100.00. She 
cautioned Mildred as to secrecy, in relating the inci- 
dent. The tears came to Mildred’s eyes when she 
walked away. 

‘‘The cunning old hypocrite!” she said to herself. 
And so he had taken the money she had given him 
and had given it to Jimmy I 

She immediately went to her father and related 
the incident to him. 

They discussed the matter at length, after which 
they went to Ingersoll’s jewelry store. 


MILDRED’S NEW ACQUAINTANCE 53 


The next day Mildred hastily and surprisingly 
went up the stairway leading to Dr. Larkin’s office 
and entered, where she found the old gentleman 
engaged in his usual avocation of quarreling with 
Ike. 

On looking up and seeing her he commenced: 

‘T would certainly like to know, if I am going to 
be bothered with you again, with some more of that 
charity of yours. Oh, well,” as he sighed as if much 
annoyed: “Politeness demands that I offer you a 
seat. So sit down as you are here, young lady. How 
are you and that young” — and he suddenly stopped 
as he looked into the face of Mildred. 

Mildred remained standing, however,. As he 
looked at her, he could see displeasure in her coun- 
tenance, as it seemed to him. And indeed Mildred 
was pretending very successfully. 

“Doctor Larkin,” she began, “I have always 
regarded you as a gentleman and I have tried to 
conduct myself always in a ladylike way toward you, 
and I have never hesitated in my friendship for you 
— I have never deceived you about anything!” 

“Why my dear girl, what in the world is the mat- 
ter?” he asked thoroughly aroused. “Ike you get 
out of here,” he said as he turned to the faithful 
old servant who was his slave before the war. 

“No, Ike will not get out of here. I want him to 
stay right here and hear what I propose saying to 
you,” she replied as she feigned indignation. 

“Doctor Larkin,” she said, “you are a sly old 
hypocrite and I simply hate you. I gave you that 


54 MILDRED’S NEW ACQUAINTANCE 


$100.00 for Jimmy Parsons, and after you had kept 
him for four weeks and had taken care of him, when 
you needed that money, and badly too, you slipped 
out to the boy’s mother and gave it all to her.” 
As she spoke she could scarcely contain herself, but 
by effort, maintained her composure. 

“Well, now,” the doctor began, “will you tell me 
the source of your information, my young Tartar?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Parsons told me so, and you can’t deny 
it,” replied Mildred. 

“Well you go get her and bring her up here and 
I’ll perform an operation on that long tongue of 
hers. That’s just the way it goes. A darned woman’s 
tongue has got to work whether she does or not. Yes 
I ” 

But he never got any further. The arms of his 
accuser were around his neck and he was being 
hugged and kissed by Mildred, greatly to his embar- 
rassment and the great amusement of Ike, whose 
grin was becoming more and niore expansive. 

“Now you dear old friend! How could you do 
such a thing when you know that I know you could 
not afford to? Bless your dear old heart!” (and 
she hugged him some more.) 

“God never made another man like you. Take 
this ! Dear old friend, it is from your little Mildred. 
Read the inscription.” 

The old doctor’s head had sunk down upon his 
breast and tears were rolling down his cheeks. Mil- 
dred with full heart turned to go and as she looked 


MILDRED’S NEW ACQUAINTANCE 55 


from the doorway, she saw old Ike with his head 
bent and back turned. 

In a few moments the doctor arose from his chair 
with the gold watch and chain in his hand, which 
Mildred had left. He opened the back and through 
blurred eyes, read: 

“From Mildred.” 

Overcome with great emotion, he turned his tear 
stained face and saw Ike with his back turned and 
hands to his eyes. For once he dropped the brusque 
exterior he wore for Ike, and with a voice that trem- 
bled with all that he felt, kindly said to him : 

“Ike — good old Ike — ”he faltered, “that’s the 
kind of women men die for.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

A MOST ENJOYABLE RIDE 

HE day now came when Paul accompanied 
Mildred over the Hiller Road upon the occa- 
sion of an agreed horse back ride. It was one 
of those beautiful May days when life Is a delight 
and everything gives evidence of It. With flowers In 
bloom, trees once more green with shading foliage, a 
sunshine that gave glow and made vegetation crowd 
its way from the warm ground, the roadside fringed 
with green to the very edge of the traveled highway, 
it was a charm of influence that was felt by the two 
friends as they rode happily along. 

Paul’s horse was a dark bay thoroughly trained 
to the saddle, and gentle in every way. If he had 
been otherwise, there Is no doubt but that Paul would 
cease to have mention in this story, except in sad- 
dened memory. His awkwardness in attempting to 
ride, was the source of much merriment to both of 
them. As long as he walked his horse, he felt 
perfectly secure, and imagined himself posing as an 
experienced horseman, but when his steed would 
start into a gallop induced by “Raritan,” his dream 



A MOST ENJOYABLE RIDE 


57 


was, at once, ingloriously shattered. He would find 
himself leaning forward, in a most clumsy manner 
and when the horse would stop the gallop, often he 
would be on the verge of being pitched bodily over 
the horse’s head. But though the merry laughter of 
Mildred rang in his ears, he took his discomfiture in 
a most good humored way and would bravely ride 
on. 

They had ridden several miles and while attempt- 
ing to cross a small ditch, Paul’s horse made an unex- 
pected movement and literally went across in a bound. 
This was too much for Paul’s lack of skill and he 
was spilled in one large and undignified heap upon 
the opposite bank. Seeing him fall, Mildred had 
immediately alighted from her horse and had run to 
him as he was getting up. 

“Paul, — I mean Mr. Hanley, are you hurt?” she 
asked. 

He had risen to his feet. She had placed her hand 
upon his shoulder before he had arisen, and upon 
getting upon his feet, he reached up and taking 
hold of her hand, replied: 

“Oh, no, I am not hurt, but my dear girl, my 
dignity has been very rudely overcome,” as he 
laughed. 

And in fact he was not injured. As they 
walked away from where he had fallen, he continued 
to hold her hand for some few feet, when Mildred 
withdrew it. Their horses had made no effort to go 
away, but were only a short distance ahead grazing 
upon the grass upon the roadside. They had entered 


58 


A MOST ENJOYABLE RIDE 


the forest some distance back and were now close to 
a small bridge over a creek nearby. 

“Would you make so very much fun of me, if I 
asked that we rest awhile?” asked Paul. 

“Why no,” replied Mildred, “I know you must 
be tired. I know what it is for a new beginner to 
attempt a long ride. Certainly, we will hitch our 
horses for a time.” 

In a short time, the horses being secured by fas- 
tening the reins to the low accommodating limbs of a 
tree, they were soon seated upon the moss covered 
roots of a large beech tree upon the bank of the 
little stream. 

While sitting there, they had each commented upon 
the beauty of the scene. They both seemed to feel 
the peaceful touch of nature’s great endowments. 
They listened to and saw the singing birds, flitting 
happily from tree to tree. All around them was the 
real beauty of the forest. The gentle breeze that 
sighed itself through the rustling leaves of trees, 
the sunshine with its slanting rays radiating its golden 
light upon the dark shade of the beautiful foliage, 
the music of the rippling waters of the modest 
creek as it gently wound its graceful way — all be- 
spoke the peacefulness, to which for the time, they 
were yielding themselves. No other sound was to 
be heard, except in the distance could be faintly 
heard the rumble of some farmer’s wagon, the 
tinkle of the bells of grazing cattle and the call of 
some farm boy to lowing cattle upon the hillside. 

For some time neither had spoken. They were 


A MOST ENJOYABLE RIDE 


59 


preparing themselves for the time when words 
prompted by their hearts would break the silence. 

Mildred had slightly turned her head from Paul, 
as she was apparently looking away. He, now, no 
longer hesitated. 

He reached over and gently placed his hand upon 
hers, and tenderly pressing it in his own, looked 
into the eyes and face of the silent woman. She, 
with cheeks suffused with the blushes of modesty and 
the purity of virgin womanhood, with the heaving 
of breast and hastened breathing, looked into his 
face and knowing that the time had come for its first 
unfolding, listened to the sweet, dear old story of 
love. 

“Mildren, how I have longed for this moment! 
From the time that I first saw you and felt the sting 
and cut of that whip of yours, you aroused a strange 
feeling within me. I first told myself that it was 
merely an admiration for beauty and your daring. 1 
attempted to dismiss you from my mind, but I could 
not do so. I found myself coming to C. under the 
pretense of business, when my business was only to 
get sight of you. 

“My great desire to know you overwhelmed me. 
I frequently loafed around the vicinity of your 
father’s store hoping to see you. Finally, one day, I 
was successful and I met you. I afterwards induced 
my mother to move here. I have waited for time to 
tell me the truth as to my heart. Dear girl, I never 
loved, nor told of a love, for any woman on earth, 
and now for the first time, I speak the words of my 


60 


A MOST ENJOYABLE RIDE 


dream. I love you, Mildred Andrews — I love you 
with all my heart. Speak to me, my dear girl, and 
tell me that I do not love in vain.” 

As he spoke and saw the emotion of the girl before 
him, he felt encouraged and offered to pull her to 
him. But she gently checked him by saying : 

“Dear Paul, when I tell you that I never knew 
what a human love was until I met and have known 
you, God knows I speak the truth. I do love you, 
Paul! Take me, Paul. For I am all yours!” 

Mildred finished by throwing herself into Paul’s 
arms and with her head upon his breast looked Into 
the soul of the handsome man with a love as pure 
as God could ever give. 

Drawing her face to his, their lips met, lingering 
long in the ecstacy of their first — the dear sweet 
kiss of a strong heart and beautiful love. And thus 
he held her In his arms for the blissful moments of 
love’s measured joys. 

Awakening from their newly found and beautiful 
dream of happiness, they were surprised at the 
spectators interestedly looking on. Unheard by 
them two peaceful eyed cows had approached near 
them, as well as a lazy looking donkey. They were 
not standing close together, but they motionlessly 
stood and looked at the strange sight which for 
moments they had beheld. 

Startled at first, the happy couple would not permit 
themselves to be denied the deep long drink at love’s 
fountain. 

When they finally began the return home, there 


A MOST ENJOYABLE RIDE 


61 


were two faces radiating with all the happiness 
human hearts can find and when they rode into town 
and to Mildred’s home and she had alighted, Paul 
said to her : 

“Mildred, my queen and sweet one, you have 
made me the happiest man on earth, and I shall tell 
your father and mother as much tonight” 

“And dear Paul, you have made me an equally 
happy girl. How I love you, my sweet heart, my 
noble man I” she replied. 

And then the ungraceful cavalier mounted his 
horse, with great difficulty and rode gaily home. 

When Mildred went into the house, her face still 
aglow with all the happiness she felt, she immediately 
sought out her mother and after throwing her arms 
around her and affectionately kissing her, said to her : 

“Oh mother, you do not know how happy your 
Mildred is!” 

With one glance her mother thought she divined 
the source of her daughter’s happiness, and she 
asked : 

“Mildred have you something to tell your old 
mother?” 

“Mother, yes, I have something to tell you,” she 
replied. “It is something I have known for some 
time. Paul loves me and has told me so. And dear 
mother I love him. He has made me so happy that 
I cannot describe my heart to you.” 

And again the overjoyed girl resorted to embraces 
of her mother as a means of showing her great 
emotion. 


62 


A MOST ENJOYABLE RIDE 


“Oh, my dear Mildred,” said her mother, “you 
have neither deceived nor disappointed your parents. 
Your father and I have not been slow to note how 
you and Mr. Hanley were being drawn to each 
other. We both think he is a good man and I know 
that your father will be pleased for your dear sake.” 

And as the mother spoke, her father entered the 
door. 

“Mildred has something to say to you, father,” 
said her mother. And so the news was broken to her 
father. He took Mildred into his arms and kissed 
her time and again. With eyes fast filling with tears, 
he looked into her face, saying nothing but letting his 
silence eloquently tell of his heart’s love for her. 
Finally when he spoke he said: 

“May the ever merciful God, bring happiness to 
my darling girl!” and seeing Mildred was beginning 
to be affected by the emotion he was showing, he 
continued, “Mildred I feel sure that you are giving 
your heart to a good man.” 

When Paul came that evening, he was welcomed 
with undisguised cordiality, if not affection by Mil- 
dred’s parents. After the embarrassing moments 
of the first introduction of the subject, he was made 
to know that his love for Mildred was with their 
approval. 

The hours the two lovers spent that evening 
became time’s curtain, upon which they painted life’s 
dream of happiness, and upon which were registered 
their hopes, and their plighted vows; to them they 
became a vast canvas, upon which love’s hand drew 


A MOST ENJOYABLE RIDE 


63 


the picture of happiness, which in the after years, 
could be seen with memory’s eye. 

And in the latter part of June in the Presbyterian 
Church, Paul and Mildred in the presence of many 
friends were married. And as Paul, after the cere- 
mony, walked down the aisle of the church, with 
Mildred as his bride, in all her fascinating beauty, 
his pride and his happiness were plainly discernible. 
And, then, when they descended the steps of the little 
church to the waiting carriage, they walked through 
lanes of well-wishing friends. 

Before the carriage had started, however, Mildred 
had noticed particularly, two familiar faces, upon the 
outside of the church, that of Doctor Larkin and 
Jimmy Parsons. Jimmy ran to the carriage and 
holding in his hand a small bunch of flowers, thrust 
them into Mildred’s hand just as the carriage rolled 
away. 

The happy couple now drove directly to Mildred’s 
home, where preparations were made for their de- 
parture upon a well planned tour. With their 
mothers and Mildred’s father blessing them with 
their love, in a short time, they were soon driven to 
the station where they shortly boarded a train that 
bore them upon joy’s journey, of several months. 


CHAPTER VII. 

REAL HAPPINESS. 



HEN Paul and Mildred returned to C. in 
September, after a most eventfully happy 
sojourn, they were greeted on all sides by an 
earnest and sincere welcome. And it was a happy 
gathering at the Andrews home, after they had been 
welcomed with the love of their parents. 

Mildred was one great ray of sunshine. Her 
happiness in the love of her wifehood for her husband 
was eloquently spoken and acted. And It was like- 
wise true as to Paul. They had gone away and 
returned in the same frame of mind and with hearts 
measuring out their affection for each other without 
abatement. As they were entertained by many friends 
and as they appeared in public, the comment was 
universal as to the well mated couple’s predicted 
happiness for the future. 

On every hand there were smiles that greeted 
them. Indeed It was a most popular and heartily 
approved marriage. The little town had never been 
visited with a more talked of wedding. No more 
handsome couple was to be found and no two persons 
could have been better suited to each other than they. 


REAL HAPPINESS 


65 


As they rode down the street upon their horses, 
or in the carriage, they were always given the recog- 
nition of greatest friendliness, their acquaintances 
anxiously accorded them. 

They spent much of the time at the large and 
elegantly beautiful home which was now nearly com- 
pleted, it having been begun before the wedding. 
Paul had purchased a half block, not far from Mil- 
dred’s parents, and was sparing no expense in the 
erection of a most magnificent structure far surpass- 
ing any of C. He was providing every possible 
modern convenience and luxury that money could 
procure. Mildred was more than delighted with it, 
and always with Paul, they together anxiously 
awaited its completion. 

By the time that the structure received its finishing 
touches upon the part of the painters, experienced 
men had furnished it with costly elegance of appoint- 
ment in keeping with so magnificent and pretentiously 
beautiful building. 

The house set back from the street quite a distance 
and was surrounded by well grown shade trees, that 
gave added appearance of beauty. 

It being before the days of experiment with the 
automobile were over, there was only provision for 
horses. In a commodious stable that Paul had per- 
mitted Mildred to superintend in Its construction. 
She had taken a most active interest in this building 
which she had designed for “Raritan” and the other 
horses. 

Finally, when every detail as to construction had 


66 


REAL HAPPINESS 


been carefully completed and their home was ready 
for occupancy, the newly weds moved in one day and 
began living the home life of love’s dream. 

One of the first things that Mildred saw as she sat 
down to their first meal In their new home, was a very 
official looking document under her plate, which 
turned out to be a deed to her to the beautiful place, 
as well as a conveyance of all of its contents from 
Paul. 

As mistress over her new domain and surround- 
ings, Mildred began to, and did preside In a manner 
charmingly dear to her husband, and gracefully 
toward the numerous friends she so frequently enter- 
tained. 

Mildred, though never given to ostentation and 
never prone to lavishness, was yet delightfully graced 
as being a royal entertainer and her home often be- 
came the scene of many popular and thoroughly 
enjoyed gatherings. 

In no sense, did the young wife permit herself to 
become ambitious in that direction. While she 
enjoyed being surrounded by her friends at her home, 
she avoided being regarded as wishing to be known 
as a society leader. Nor did she by reason of her 
enlarged environments, in the slightest degree, 
divorce herself from her former life of engaging in 
charitable as well as church duties, and she was 
frequently seen on the contrary, renewing her efforts 
in both fields with no abatement, whatever, of her 
old time activity. 

She continued to take great interest, too, in her 


REAL HAPPINESS 


67 


musical studies and had become a most essential and 
popular factor as organist of the Presbyterian choir; 
and no church event was without her, either presiding 
at the organ or participating in some way with the 
heart of sincerity with which she was blessed. 

On the occasion of every Sunday service, walking 
proudly by the side of her husband, she would leave 
him in the family pew while she would take her place 
in the choir. 

As the months went by and spring came again, 
while Mildred did not ride her horse any more, Paul 
would take her for long drives into the country, once 
alighting from their carriage and revisiting the noble 
old beech tree, under whose limbs, Paul had first 
avowed his love for her. While they sat there, they 
again spoke to each other with love’s accents as 
before, and were just as happy as on the well remem- 
bered day. 

But while they may not have said the same things, 
nor have indulged in conduct calculated to have 
drawn the limpid eyed cows and other animals, as 
spectators, as once they had, yet there were many 
things that these married lovers had to say to each 
other; and there was one delicately dear subject about 
which they talked, that was ever interesting and that 
remained as a topic for subsequent family discussion. 

Happy woman ! Happy man ! 

They sat there, he, with his arm gently and 
tenderly encircling her — both made happy with the 
dearest of sweet memories of their love, — happy in 
the realization of the loyal hearts of the present, and 


68 


REAL HAPPINESS 


happy in the anticipation of the future. They were 
touched by the finger and gentility of God and His 
law of love. Their whispers were of His decree, and 
as she with flushed face, and he, with tender embrace, 
fondly discussed the coming event of motherhood, 
they were obeying and following His laws, which 
only surely bring happiness to those whom he joins 
as man and wife. 

Returning home that day, Paul found several 
letters from his firm insisting upon his going to 
St. Louis upon Important matters of business. He 
was neither anxious nor willing to go, but was 
persuaded by Mildred that he should not neglect 
his business, and so upon her insistence, he went. He 
spent only a day in the city after reaching there, and 
returned the next day. 

What his firm discussed with him was the advis- 
ability of, and their wish that he should travel for 
the rapidly growing business. He had been regarded 
as having exceptional ability as a salesman and he 
was being urged to so apply himself. Paul had very 
emphatically refused, however, and had not hesi- 
tated to frankly assign as the reason for his refusal, 
the fact that he had married recently and that he 
would not absent himself from his wife. While 
accepting his excuse for not doing as had been 
desired, one of the firm with a knowing wink, said : 

“Well being newly married, we can hardly blame 
him, but possibly there might be a change of opinion 
In the future and then we can secure your services, 
Paul?” he asked. 


REAL HAPPINESS 


69 


‘‘Oh yes, when I change my mind; but that will 
never be,” he exclaimed with much promptness. 

He had told Mildred of the entire conversation 
and she was intensely pleased, and went to where he 
was sitting and threw herself into his lap. Kissing 
him and putting her arms around his neck and look- 
ing into his eyes, she said and asked : 

“Oh my darling Paul, how I thank you for your 
loyal love for me. 

“And dear, do you love me so well, that you will 
not travel for jour house, in the future? You know 
you might become tired of me and be anxious to 
travel and be away from me.” 

“Why my dear Mildred, I will never become tired 
of you and I will not travel and I told them so, 
frankly, too. So do not fear sweetheart, your Paul 
will always be with you,” he replied. 

And indeed, what a just resolution he had made! 

One day, Paul brought Dr. Larkin to the house, as 
he explained because of the doctor having that “lean 
and hungry Cassius-like look.” 

“No such thing! I just came out here to learn 
if you ever were going to apologize to me for the 
mean things you said to me in my office,” the warring 
doctor said. 

Mildred could not help laughing at the dear good 
natured raillery of her old friend. 

“Well, you must remember that I did not stop in 
my punishment of you by merely talking to you, and 
I propose doing the same thing now,” she answered 


70 


REAL HAPPINESS 


as she walked over to him and kissed him as she 
had done before. 

“Well I suppose the next thing will be Paul shoot- 
ing me, but I am yielding myself with great bravery 
to the danger I am placing myself in,” he banteringly 
said. 

After a most enjoyable meal, during which much 
pleasantry was indulged in, Paul excused himself to 
go and water the horses and the doctor remained 
with Mildred for quite a while. 

When Paul came in, the doctor took his leave, 
being accompanied by Paul to the gate, where he 
said to him : 

“Yes, my boy, I would advise you to stay right 
here, and I will send that nurse up right away.” 

About one o’clock that night Dr. Larkin walked 
down the stairway of the Hanley residence and going 
into the library, said to the anxiously waiting Paul : 

“My dear boy, there is an exceedingly red-faced 
young lady upstairs crying her head off for you. So 
go to your daughter, Paul.” 

And he warmly shook the young father’s hand. 
Accompanied by Dr. Larkin, Paul ascended the stair- 
way, knelt at her bedside and kissed Mildred as she 
put her arm around his neck. Then he was per- 
mitted by Mildred’s mother and nurse to look into 
the face of one who in after years would be a dear 
and irresistible instrumentality of love and happiness. 

May I ask my dear reader, if you have been a 
father, or if you have been a mother, have you for- 


REAL HAPPINESS 


71 


gotten the nobility of humanity’s heart, when for the 
first time, you beheld your first born? As you recall 
it, though dark and sadly intervening years may have 
passed since then, will human tongue or trenchant 
pen enable you to describe how proudly as a father, 
or fondly as a mother, you gazed with riveted eye 
upon that little child? 

No you cannot, for that was the God that for the 
time, had become a part of you. 

The world has ever been entertained by the artist 
with his versatile brush. He has made silent canvas 
tell us the tales of man’s wars, his loves and his 
great attainments. He has taught us history — has 
portrayed the scenes of the life and death of the 
Saviour — has made glorious the deeds of Christian- 
ity, and hideous, the crimes of the world — has 
painted for us the magnificence of the rolling waves 
of the seas, — has made us behold the replica of the 
clouds, the moon, stars, sun and the bright blue sky; 
but where and when did he ever create so much of 
love, so much of power, so much of humanity, so 
much of beauty and so much of Godliness, as are to 
be found in the unpainted but beholden picture of — 
The Mother Nursing Her First Born? 

Mildred’s young motherhood had brought added 
beauty — and when Paul had remarked as much in the 
presence of Dr. Larkin and Mildred, the irrepressi- 
ble doctor at once, with much mock earnestness, 
said: 

“Suffering humanity! If that be true and it is a 
cure for her homliness and will possibly improve 


72 


REAL HAPPINESS 


her looks, hasten the oft coming of the stork, for 
charity’s sake if not for beauty’s sake.” 

But Paul was right. There was an intensified 
beam of the eye, and there was a harmonious color- 
ing of the cheek and the marvelousness of that beau- 
tiful smile that had never been Mildred’s before. 

When mother and babe were placed beyond dan- 
ger and she had progressed to the extent that she 
could walk around, there came happier days than 
ever. The devotion of Paul to both mother and 
child grew upon him and he often came near making 
a nuisance of himself as he would awkwardly attempt 
feats of fondling the baby. More like a child than a 
man, as he lounged away his days at home, his cup 
of happiness was well nigh full, and indeed, there 
was much spirited rivalry that had arisen between 
Paul and Mrs. Andrews as to their love and care for 
the much loved child. 

Mildred had named her daughter “Aldine,” over 
the protest of Paul, who insistently contended that 
the only name suitable was that of her mother. But 
the mother’s wish was acquiesced in. 

Time went rapidly by. Nothing but supreme hap- 
piness reigned at the home. There was not a marr- 
ing circumstance that had ever arisen to disturb the 
tranquility of the little family. All were in good 
health and there seemed nothing lacking nor desired, 
except the wish that there should be no change of 
conditions existing. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


ON THE ROAD. 

I VER a year had gone by, when a dark cloud 
began to hover over the household of the 
Andrews family. John’s health had for 
some time been failing him. At first, through sheer 
will power, he had fought off his ailment as being of 
little consequence ; but there soon came the time when 
nature demanded a surrender and now he no longer 
went to his place of business, which Paul was com- 
pelled to take charge of. 

Despite the vigilant care and attention he received 
at home and the skill and unceasing efforts of Doctor 
Larkin, the good man grew gradually weaker and 
weaker and finally was compelled to take to his bed. 
There seemed to be no particular ailment assailing 
him, but there appeared a general giving way of 
the man. He had worked untiringly throughout his 
life, with both )mind and body, and the human 
machinery of the man was wearing itself away. 

Dr. Larkin gravely comprehended his case as 
being most serious from the start and though he 
refrained from telling any one else, he had informed 
Paul that it was only a question of weeks before the 
end would come. 



74 


ON THE ROAD 


On a particular occasion he had spent a very rest- 
less day, and was so apparently sinking that the 
Doctor had Informed the family that he could hardly 
last through the night. As the night wore on he con- 
tinued to grow worse and just as dawn began to 
appear, he called In his feeble voice to his wife, who 
sat with Mildred by his bedside. 

And with his loved ones around him, and with a 
smile on his lips, one of Nature’s noblemen had 
passed away. 

When the good man was laid away In the little 
cemetery, followed by the grief stricken mother and 
daughter and hosts of friends, both family and com- 
munity had sustained an Irreparable loss. Intense 
as was the grief of his little family, yet there was the 
greatest of all consolations In the realization that 
there could be no speculation as to the peaceful flight 
of his soul to his Maker. 

Though a quiet unpretentious man, mild of manner 
and gentle of speech, kind, and always with generous 
heart, his was not the life that dashed upon you with 
Impetuous word or deed. You did not learn to know 
the man In a day or a year. He grew Into your heart 
with time and he became a factor with that type of 
bravery that enabled him to be a peaceful man, and 
to win his battles with peace, just as he passed away 
In peace. 

The death of John had been a severe blow to his 
wife. Aged as she was, she was enabled to recall 
many years of their long wedded life, through which 
there had been only happiness. Her grief remained 


ON THE ROAD 


75 


with her and she could find only consolation in the 
affection she had for Mildred and little Aldine. 

With his death, she was left more than a com- 
petence, and was in fact, surprised at the accumlation 
of the years since they first reached C. Notwith- 
standing the fact that he and his wife were liberal in 
a most commendable way, in church and charitable 
work, his exceptional ability as a business man had 
left her a very comfortable fortune. Paul had been 
entrusted with the winding up of all the business 
affairs and he had done so in a most profitable manner 
to her. 

Mildred’s mother was now living with her, though 
she had demurred to the suggestion, when Paul had 
added to Mildred’s request that she do so, and they 
both became great sources of comfort to her. 

Her affection for Paul was genuine and was most 
cordially returned by him, whose kindness for her, 
was present on all occasions, with his thoughtfulness 

Paul had been several times called to St. Louis on 
business connected with his firm but he had always 
restricted himself to no greater absence than two or 
three days at a time, his desire always to return soon, 
not failing to give Mildred much pleasure. 

On the occasion of one of these trips he had 
returned with his face denoting some mental worry. 
Mildred had asked him the cause. He replied that 
the members of his firm were again calling upon him 
to take the road as they had done before. He had 
denied consideration of their wishes, after talking it 
over with them. 


76 


ON THE ROAD 


‘T do not want to do so, and I told them as much,” 
Paul said as they discussed the matter. 

“But, my dear, I have thought over the matter, 
and though I would prefer to have you with me 
always, do you not think it your duty to do so? They 
seem to think so much of your ability and want you 
so much, travel for them awhile,” Mildred said. 

“Yes, but I promised you that I would not do so,” 
replied Paul. 

“I know you did, dear, but your circumstances are 
quite different now, as compared to then. I have 
mother with me now and dear little Aldine, too, to 
keep me company,” she answered and then con- 
tinued : 

“You can so arrange your territory that you can 
come to us for Sundays, could you not?” 

“Yes, I could do that very well, but it would be 
hard on me to remain away from you. And dear, 
would you not get lonesome for your Paul?” he 
asked. 

“Paul you know I would,” said she, as she kissed 
him. “But I would always trust my Paul and would 
know that he would come to me whenever he could.” 

“Well, I will try it for a while, and if I do not 
find myself able to stand it, of course, I can give it 
up,” he finally replied. 

Accordingly, not long afterwards, Paul found 
himself again visiting the trade and mingling with 
hundreds of other “Knights of the Grip,” throughout 
the territory he formerly had. In returning to his 
work he was greeted very cordially by his former 


ON THE ROAD 


77 


friends and brother salesmen, with whom he was 
deservedly popular. 

He had reluctantly resumed this connection with 
his house, and at first had somewhat lagged in interest 
as he began his solicitation from town to town. And 
yet the spirit of competition and his desire to faith- 
fully represent his house, so appealed to him, that 
he began to actively be alive to the work and respon- 
sibilities he had assumed. 

He began writing letters every evening to Mildred 
and never failed to send his messages of love to her 
and their little baby. Mildrd would in turn, write 
to him to all addresses, which he would give. The 
first thing, always upon reaching every town, that 
he did, was anxiously to make inquiry at the hotel 
for his mail. If he received a letter from Mildred 
his countenance readily showed it; and if for any 
reason, he failed, bitter disappointment was his. 

Though repeatedly requested to join his friends 
in diversions and indulgences they were so prone to, 
he was known by them for his most exemplary con- 
duct in refusing. With him, there was no difficulty 
in resisting, and indeed, he found great pleasure in 
doing so as he thought of the queenly woman he had 
left at C., and who always awaited his home coming 
with her bountiful love. 

The first week he had found to consist largely of 
loneliness and longing for the end of the week when 
he had arranged to be at home for Sunday. 

Gradually, he began to accustom himself to the 
hardships entailed, and though he cherished the 


78 


ON THE ROAD 


thought of Sunday and the happiness it had in store 
for him, he resigned himself stoically to the drum- 
mer’s life, if not with enthusiasm, yet in a manner 
that made it no longer oppressive to him. 

Frequently, when away from home, Paul was made 
to see the phases of life, by no means uncommonly 
found to be parts and parcels in the make up of the 
average traveling salesman. Verily it can be said 
that some very rare species of man, can be found in 
their ranks. As a rule, a few of them are single men 
when at home and most of them are single men when 
away from home. The confession as to being 
married, is not often made by a large number. 

They are generally, in fact, a broad minded class 
of men; lively and given to a spirit of jollity that 
becomes an element of their composition; usually 
possessed of a sense of humor that enables them to 
see even the bright side of a cloud. Taken 
as a whole, they are a big hearted and gen- 
erous class of men, tickling their customers with the 
latest (or oldest, if usable) story, representing 
always the best house in his line and with each 
month’s business “greater and grander than ever.” 
When an unlassoed band of them get together, either 
at some country hotel or upon a railroad train, there 
is always one continuous flow of modesty in conver- 
sation, and scorn for exaggeration, that becomes a 
great charm to the spectators they entertain. 

Then too, there are a few who have never found it 
difficult in tracing their physical beauty of counten- 
ance, and most charming personalities to the fact of 


ON THE ROAD 


79 


close kinship with Adonis himself. This class is 
composed and is made up of some very neat and up- 
to-date wardrobes, and may be easily taken for well 
dressed statues, as they motionlessly become glued to 
the most prominently public places on streets to be 
found, as they await the rustling skirts of a woman. 
Their dear and embryonic charms and smiles, up to 
this date have never been returned by any woman, but 
they are still trying. 

For this class as well as that which did not attempt 
to hide their notorious infidelity to their wives, in 
constantly seeking the company of other women, and 
which he had so often observed, Paul had the great- 
est contempt. 

Happily there were but few instances of this char- 
acter, but those with which he had come in contact, 
were enough to draw from him his most intense 
repulsion. He could not understand how such men 
could reward the virtue of the wife at home, with 
such perfidy ! 

These impressions of antagonism to the misbe- 
haviour of such men, he felt sure would always enable 
him to see his beloved Mildred in all her purity and 
make him the more loyal to her. 

As the months went on Paul had successfully built 
up a large trade throughout his territory, and was 
beginning to receive the most complimentary letters 
from his firm, which greatly pleased him as well as 
Mildred, to whom he proudly showed the letters. 

Mildred was proud of Paul for many reasons, and 
particularly because of the great love he always 


80 


ON THE ROAD 


unmistakably would show for her. His letters had 
always regularly come to her and they were ever her 
heart’s delight, when she would eagerly open and 
read them. During all that time, he had never 
failed to come home for Sundays and he always found 
her waiting for him on Saturday night for his home 
coming. 

And with such a love and such fidelity, what 
woman would not be proud? 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE FALL. 

F the towns Paul “made,” D — was the largest 
in population. He was always pleased whenhe 
reached there. It was easier for him to deal 
with the merchants of that place, for some reason, 
though competition was stronger than elsewhere. But 
he had always been enabled to take larger orders, in 
not only numbers, but in quantity sold. He remained 
here longer than at other places and had made a 
great many acquaintances among the business men 
and other citizens. 

Once, when engaged in selling a merchant in D., 
with whom he was on most friendly terms, a young 
lady had entered the store, temporarily interrupting 
his dealings with the storekeeper. She made several 
purchases while there, it being necessary for her to 
walk by where he was standing, in order to be shown 
some article being bought by her. Paul politely 
stepped aside for her to pass and as he did so he 
looked at her as she approached, as did she toward 
him. He could not avoid seeing that she was a very 
beautiful young lady. Her dark hair and eyes at 
once, reminded him of Mildred. He had caught but 
one glance from her, but he was impressed with her 
extraordinary beauty of face. Once when his eye 



82 


THE FALL 


was turned in her direction, as she animatedly talked 
to his merchant friend, he observed that she, too, 
was looking at him. Their eyes met for only a 
moment, but his first impression was somewhat Inten- 
sified as to her charm of appearance. As she finished 
trading and walked toward the front door with the 
merchant, he found himself looking In her direction 
with no little interest and admiration. 

Upon the return of the groceryman, he finished 
selling the bill of goods. After putting the sub- 
stanlal order in his pocket, and closing his sample 
case, he was about to leave, after shaking hands with 
his customer, when he suddenly asked: 

“Who was the young lady?” 

The merchant smilingly replied: 

“Well, now, do you know, she just made the same 
inquiry as to yourself. That was Mrs. Kller, one of 
our most beautiful girls. She is a young widow, who 
lives with her mother up on the next corner as you 
go towards town.” 

“Indeed, she is a most attractive woman,” Paul 
replied. 

After leaving the store and while on the way to 
his hotel, Paul was compelled to pass the corner indi- 
cated as the home of the young lady, and as he did so, 
saw her sitting upon the steps of the little cottage, 
playing with a little child. As he glanced toward 
her, he thought that she had not impolitely Indicated 
recognition of him. 

That same night he left D., and continued to make 
the towns upon his trip. 


THE FALL 


83 


He did not fail to write to Mildred, that night. 

Several times, however, before retiring, he thought 
of the handsome woman he had seen, and her face 
was before him, often for many days afterward. 

It was several weeks later, when he returned to 
the town of D. upon his regular trip. He was making 
the usual call upon merchants and had entered the 
store of Johnston & Company where he had seen 
Mrs. Kiler. 

It was late in the afternoon and the proprietor 
did not have time to give Paul his order as he was 
preparing to close up. He asked Paul to leave his 
sample case in his store until morning, to which Paul 
assented. The merchant was preparing to close fhe 
doors, when there suddenly came into the store the 
object of much admiration upon Paul’s part, when 
last at the store. 

“Oh, Mr. Johnston,” she said, “I hope I am not 
too late, but mother wanted me to get some pota- 
toes,” as she handed him the basket. 

“You are never too late, Mrs. Kiler,” the merchant 
replied. 

He took her basket, and filling it with potatoes, 
was about to hand it to her. 

“Here, this will be too heavy for you to carry,” 
he said. As he spoke, he turned with a smile and 
said : 

“Mrs. Kiler, let me make you acquainted with Mr. 
Hanley, an old friend of mine and who will act as 
my delivery boy, I am sure.” 

With mutual looks of recognition, they acknowl- 


84 


THE FALL 


edged the introduction, — and soon afterward Paul 
found himself walking with pleasure by the side of 
Mrs. Kiler, as he carried her purchase. 

“I think that we have met before,” Paul remarked 
as they walked out of the store. 

“Yes, we have, but you must have a remarkable 
memory,” she naively replied. 

“Yet you must remember that there are some 
occasions when you cannot forget,” he replied, intend- 
ing his remark to be understood as complimentary to 
her. 

“I thank you, kind sir!” she girlishly answered 
with a mocking smile, but continuing she added: 
“Are you like all of your drummer friends, 
just as adept in giving away bouquets as you are in 
selling goods?” 

They had reached the gate of her home and Paul 
was wishing she had^ lived a greater distance from 
the store. 

“Well, but how did you know my occupation?” 
Paul asked. 

“Why, Mr. Johnston told me when I asked him 
as to who you were,” was her very candid answer. 

“But may I not ask you why you should have asked 
as to my name?” he awkwardly asked. 

“Oh, I don’t know — possibly for the same reason 
that prompted your asking the same question about 
me aHer I had left the store that day,” she answered 
with her laughing eyes frankly meeting his. 

“I presume, of course, that he further gossiped 
about me and told you many objectionable things 


THE FALL 


85 


about me, after I left town?” continued Paul with 
his questioning. 

“Yes, he did tell me one very objectionable thing 
about you. But Mr. Hanley do not stand there 
holding that basket. Delivery boys do not usually 
act that way. Take it in and put it on the porch,” 
she continued assuming a commanding tone of voice. 

With feigned humility, he proceeded to take the 
basket toward the front porch when she called to 
him: 

“Have I not told you always to deliver your pack- 
ages at the back door?” she jestingly asked. 

Paul, very obediently took his basket to the rear 
door and deposited it upon the steps after which he 
came back to the front yard where he beheld the 
fascinating woman, as she smilingly met him. 

Speculating in his own mind as to what information 
Mr. Johnston might have volunteered, he now as- 
sumed that he had told of his being a married man 
and asked: 

“I can imagine what Johnston told you that was so 
objectionable and I suppose you will not let me see 
you again because of that fact?” 

With that he held out his hand to say good bye. 
As she extended her hand, her eyes seemed pleasingly 
serious and kindly as did her voice, when she replied : 

“Mr. Hanley, I know that you are married and 
that you expect me to answer you in the affirmative, 
but I propose being honest with you as well as myself. 
On the contrary, if I thought you cared to, I would 
ask you to come and see me tonight. Now have I 


86 


THE FALL 


debased myself in your estimation because I speak 
honestly?” 

As she answered Paul pressed her hand In great 
elation : 

‘‘This evening?” 

“Yes, at eight,” was her answer. 

For a moment they stood with clasped hands and 
looked earnestly into the eyes of each other. 

Shortly, he turned away and walked to his hotel 
after assuring her of his intended coming. 

As he walked up the street, experiencing Intense 
exultation, he scarcely understood his own feelings. 
But of one thing he felt more than assured. 

He had met a most delightfully charming woman. 

He felt strangely too, an influence she had so 
easily exercised over him. 

Ah, how beautiful ! How pleasingly engaging in 
manner and speech ! 

He stepped with buoyancy of stride. He was 
pleased with himself ! 

Suddenly there came to him as he walked on, the 
picture of Mildred and little Aldine ! 

No! He would write this woman his excuses for 
breaking the engagement 1 He would do nothing to 
rob Mildred of his love I 

He went Into the hotel. He met some acquaint- 
ances and engaged them in conversation. Finally, 
he went into the dining room, with troubled mind and 
little appetite. Afterwards upon returning to the 
hotel office, he sat down and bravely, as he thought, 
wrote his excuses for not making the invited call, 


THE FALL 


87 


and addressing the envelope, arose with the object 
of finding a messenger boy. 

He had thrust the note into his pocket and had 
gone upon the street, and for a time, stood in front of 
the hotel. He began to revolve the situation in his 
mind, with the conflicting emotions now assailing 
him. 

His love for Mildred need not be hurt, he said to 
himself. No influence could ever accomplish that! 
Indeed, was he not strong enough as a man that he 
could be master of himself? Certainly, he was I 

He tore up the note. 

Promptly at eight o’clock that evening, Paul 
entered the home of Myra Kiler. 

If Paul had entertained any idea that her conduct 
would be any different from very ladylike, the recep- 
tion and entertainment he met with, effectually dis- 
abused his mind of that impression. With an easy 
and accomplished conversationalist as this young 
lady was, Paul felt himself embarrassed to no little 
extent, in his surprise at the reception. He had met 
a most versatile woman in many ways. With her 
cleverness, he never discovered that she had made 
him talk of himself. She became thoroughly 
acquainted with him and he had learned but very 
little of her. When she did talk of herself, she 
impressed him with the idea that she felt keenly her 
unfortunate inability to rise higher than her embar- 
rassing station of life and regretting her lot as being 
a most disagreeable one. 

At such a time Paul thought he could see a tear 


88 


THE FALL 


appear and that the voice trembled slightly as she 
spoke. 

He had ventured his great admiration of her. 
Impetuously he had taken her hand in his and had 
assured her of the friendshsip he felt for her. He 
knew that he would prove worthy of her confidence. 
And she had pressed his hand with warmth as she 
thanked him, for his kindness. She valued his friend- 
ship far more than she could express. But did he 
dare? 

She told him how wrong it was for her to accept 
his attentions, knowing him to be married, but would 
he think less of her for it? 

How dear it was that he didn’t! 

Once, she placed her hand upon his shoulder, as 
she talked to him and he had felt the thrill 
of a sensation that was overpowering him. He 
wanted to take her into his arms ; and he would have 
tried, for with cleverness of her intellectual tact she 
had impressed him with the thought that she was a 
most remarkable woman. 

A short time before he left he had arisen and was 
telling her that he would go, for he must take his 
train that night. They had approached the door, 
when she said to him: 

‘T am so afraid that you will think harshly of me, 
because of what I have done.” 

He turned to her. She was irresistible. He was 
holding her hand in his. He felt the charm of her 
very presence. He suddenly put his arm around her 
and drawing her to him though of course she strug- 


THE FALL 


89 


gled against it, kissed her passionately time and 
again. She finally lay in his arms no longer oppos- 
ing him. His hot breath was upon her cheek. His 
heart beat fast as he pressed the beautiful woman to 
him. She began to manifest some emotion toward 
him. She had returned his affection with her own 
kisses. He then suddenly observed that she was 
apparently weeping. She had put her handkerchief 
up to her eyes. 

“Oh,” she said, “I am doing so wrong. You must 
go. I want your friendship and respect. I know I 
will lose it now.” 

“No, you will not. You have more than friend- 
ship from me. Can’t you see how I am drawn to 
you?” 

And with her in his arms again, he many times 
kissed her good night as she clung to him. 

Now, he breathed into the ears of the woman, his 
love, his undying affection; that which could never 
be destroyed. Yes, he would soon return. Could 
she love him? She was ashamed — so ashamed to 
acknowledge it. But she had loved him the first 
time she saw him! Did he not understand? Had 
she not shown it? 

For the first time Mildred did not receive her 
regular letter. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE VAMPIRE^S VICTIM. 

N the following day, the acuteness of con- 
science had been such, because of his first 
act of faithlessness toward Mildred, that he 
was suddenly and decidedly remorseful. He resolved 
that he would terminate his friendship with his most 
recently found acquaintance, and conduct himself as 
he had always done before. He would not run the 
risk of jeopardizing his love for the one so entitled 
to it. 

He was so berating himself, that he wrote to Mil- 
dred telling her that he had been in the country and 
did not have an opportunity to write to her. And 
throughout the remainder of the week, he never 
failed to regularly write his daily letter. 

But he was unable to dismiss the face of the 
enchantress from his mind, strong as were his resolu- 
tions. His mind frequently took him to the little 
cottage in D. He thought of her as not only an 
intelligently pleasing woman, but he had admired her, 
too, because of what he deemed her splendid 
womanly qualities in every regard. He had not for- 
gotten what he deemed her tears, — nor had he for- 
gotten her frank admission of her interest in him. 



THE VAMPIRE^S VICTIM 


91 


And, too, he had even recalled that she had said that 
she loved him. He felt no little pride, and reflected 
some of his vanity, as he thought of how he had 
impressed her. 

On the Saturday night following, when Mildred 
met him at the front door, he was apparently the 
same Paul that had left during the first of the week. 
He spent the day with Mildred and their little 
daughter, and was making commendable efforts to 
dismiss the young widow from his mind. 

Only once, did he appear in an unusual role to 
Mildred during the day. She thought as he seemed 
to be looking in an absent minded manner, out of the 
window, while holding Aldine, that he did not for 
some reason seem exactly at ease. She thought, too, 
that he appeared just a trifle restless, as he would 
walk around. 

But he was all fondness as he had told Mildred 
good bye when he left Sunday night for his week’s 
trip. 

Once, again, during the week, Paul failed to write 
home. And, too, he did not write as lengthy letters 
as formerly. During the week he had written that 
he had been asked to go to St. Louis by his firm and 
that he might not be able to reach C. for Sunday. 

As a matter of fact, he arrived in D. on an after- 
noon train Saturday and that evening found him at 
the home of Myra Kiler. Upon his arrival at her 
home, her greeting was such that he was highly 
pleased. He had taken the precaution to send a 
note to her as soon as he arrived at D. and had been 


92 


THE VAMPIRE’S VICTIM 


assured by her answer of her pleasure at his coming 
to see her. 

In a most serious frame of mind, she had, how- 
ever, during the evening expressed herself as feeling 
highly reprehensible because of her indiscrtlon 
toward him and had said to him, among other things : 

“Mr. Hanley, I am not blaming you, but myself. 
I know I have done very wrong, and I know I should 
not have asked you here. I must not allow myself 
to be unjust to your wife. And so I have made up 
my mind to tell you that we must not see each other 
again. While I must be frank and fair enough to 
confess, again, my regard for you, I will not know- 
ingly hurt you or yours.” 

As she spoke to him, Paul Imagined that he could 
see much regret in her face, as she bent her head. 

Ah, how noble did she appear to him! What a 
gloriously just creature she was 1 

What could he say in reply, to such a just deter- 
mination? 

He made the same reply other cowardly husbands 
have made, knowing its falsity and realizing, too, the 
great wrong to the love of the faithful wife, who 
was at that very hour sighing her regret at his first 
failure to return home as usual. 

“But, sweet woman, you are not depriving another 
of any right. You are not doing any injustice to any 
one but me. You do not know how unhappy a man 
I am and have been. You shall not so summarily 
dismiss me, now that I have found you. You cannot 
understand how much of happiness you have already 


THE VAMPIRE’S VICTIM 


93 


become to me and how much you can be in the 
future?” 

“Oh, Mr. Hanley, it is so hard for me. You know 
that I am so helplessly situated that my own unhappi- 
ness can easily be brought about, if it were ever 
known that I should receive your attentions. Your 
infatuation for me, I fear, is only that passing fancy 
that will soon disappear. I cannot bring myself to 
believe that you really love me. Why should you 
love me? You do not know me with all my faults — 
and if you did, I know that you could never think of 
giving me your love,” she replied as she looked into 
his eyes. 

Paul arose from his chair and went to her side. 

“Dear woman, do not make me miserable with 
such utterances. Your own heart tells you of my love 
for you. I know that since the time I first saw you, 
you won your way to my heart. It is all yours. Take 
it or dismiss me from you forever. I never knew 
what the reality of human love was, until I looked 
into your eyes, fair one. I love you better than all 
else in the world,” he said. As he finished speaking 
he drew her to him. She not only did not resist him 
but she answered him by saying: 

“Yes, and I love you with all the heart within me,” 
as she nestled her head upon his breast with upturned 
face, the lips of which he kissed with eager and 
frantic affection. 

Paul Hanley had imagined himself strong in mind 
and heart. 

He had gone out into the world with the imprint 


94 


THE VAMPIRE’S VICTIM 


of a noble wife’s kisses upon his lips. He had often 
expressed his contempt as well as pity for men whom 
he knew to have perfidiously brought shame upon the 
purity of a faithful love, by seeking and loving 
another. 

But his was by no means an isolated example of 
the weakness of men, whose loves have been those of 
greatest devotion to wives of years, whose hearts 
had never been questioned in all their fealty, who 
have been suddenly made to fall, by reason of yield- 
ing to the charms of another — making them 
asperse loyalty, debase manhood and plunge into the 
unhappy miseries that become their contributions to 
the great crucible of human woes. Strange as it may 
seem, the best of men have succumbed to the influence 
of the worst of women. There have been unlocked 
doors to greatest happiness, permitting sorrows to 
enter instead — and hearts have been broken and ruth- 
lessly thrown into the scrap pile of life — all through 
the incontinentcy of loves that seemed imperishable. 


CHAPTER XL 

A woman's forgiveness. 

HERE now came many days when Mildred 
would not hear from Paul. . Then, too, he 
began to remain away from Eexjon Sundays, 
without even the excuses which he had at one time 
given. When, if perchance, she should ask him why 
he did not come home at such times, he would petu- 
lantly make evasive replies. 

Once, she had noticed a moodiness of disposition, 
so foreign to his nature, that she had gone to where 
he sat, and putting her arms around his neck, and 
with tears in her eyes, had asked: 

“Paul, dear Paul, won’t you tell your Mildred 
what has worried you so much of late? You are not 
like your dear old self.” 

His reply, on that occasion, was : 

“Oh, I am worried about business — that’s all.” 

But Mildred knew her husband had other worries 
than business affairs. 

“But Paul, why don’t you come home to me for 
Sunday as you used to do at first? Surely, there is 
no business transacted on the Sabbath day? We miss 
you so much, my dear husband,” she had sadly said 
to him and then added : 

“Oh how I long for those dear days, when you 
were with us always.” 



96 


A WOMAN’S FORGIVENESS 


‘‘Now, see here, Mildred, I come home as often 
as I can. It is no easy matter to make long drives, 
some times at night, in order to catch a train and then 
travel all night, in order to get here,” he replied to 
her, somewhat worried with her. 

“In any event, I wish you would give up the road. 
Won’t you, Paul?” she eagerly asked him. 

“You are the very one that insisted that I should 
travel. Now, here you are asking me to stop. Let 
this be the last time you mention the subject, Mildred, 
for I tell you, that I will not do so,” he answered in 
an irritated tone of voice and manner. 

The poor wife and mother was sadly seeing a 
most remarkable change in her husband. It grieved 
her. She did not understand it. What could be the 
cause? 

Months had passed and husband and wife had now 
become estranged to such an extent, that Mildred had 
ceased to ask Paul any questions about his affairs, 
either business or otherwise. But she never failed 
to meet him in the most affectionate manner, nor 
to regretfully see him leave. 

Twice, he had come from down town, his breath 
plainly showing that he had been drinking some 
strong liquor. This gave her added worry; but she 
felt great timidity in mentioning it, and refrained 
from doing so. 

While at a neighbor’s house, one day, she hap- 
pened to casually be reading a D. paper when she 
noticed an item in connection with a description of a 


A WOMAN^S FORGIVENESS 


97 


ball that had been given at D. and this was the item 
she read. 

‘‘The first prize for the handsomest and most 
graceful couple on the floor was awarded to Mr. 
Paul Hanley and his partner, the beautiful Mrs. 
Myra Kiler.’’ 

Requesting the privilege of taking the paper, Mil- 
dred returned home. 

And Paul was paying attention to other women? 
Surely not! No, not Paul! Paul could do nothing 
so dishonorable ! 

But notwithstanding her mental comments she had 
gone to her room and yielded to tears of unhappiness. 

When Paul returned home, after she had read the 
article as to the prize .winners of the ball room, Mil- 
dred surprised Paul by asking him : 

“Paul, do you ever dance any while you are 
away?” 

“No,” he curtly replied. 

“Well Paul, what does this mean?” and she 
handed him the clipping from the newspaper. 

Glancing at the newspaper item, his displeasure 
was evident. 

“Well?” he asked. 

“But Paul, you said you never danced. Who is 
Mrs. Myra Kiler?” she asked. 

“Oh, she is the wife of one of the boys on the 
road,” he easily lied to her. “Now is there any other 
cross examination in store for me?” he asked. 

The miserable woman was now kneeling at his feet 
— all tears, unhappy and dejected. 


98 


A WOMAN^S FORGIVENESS 


“Paul, my husband, my sweetheart, tell me is there 
some other woman? You do not love Mildred any 
more, do you?” she asked, her face telling of all the 
awful anguish she was suffering. 

“Why no, of course there is no other woman,” he 
replied. 

He raised her from her position and kissed her. 
His heart had not become so hardened that his con- 
science did not awaken sorrow for the sobbing wife 
who was pleading so pathetically for the love she 
felt was being lost to her. 

“Come, Mildred, you must not be so foolish,” he 
said to her as he took his hat from the table and 
walked out into the yard. 

Mildred saw him standing in one position for a 
long time, seemingly in deep meditation and dejec- 
tion. 

When he left that night, she had gone to the door 
with him. 

“Oh, Mildred, I will come back soon. Do not 
worry,” he said, and then walked hastily away. 

He did come back soon, but he did not bring much 
pleasure to her heart upon his return. 

Mildred had no idea as to the time of night it 
was, but her mother had come to her on the fol- 
lowing Sunday night, and awakening her, told her 
that she had heard a strange noise at the front door. 

She and her mother cautiously and with some fear 
descended the stairway to the reception room which 
was always kept lighted. 


A WOMAN’S FORGIVENESS 


99 


Standing there, Mildred heard unmistakable 
groans from the front porch. 

“Mildred! Mildred!” she heard a voice call. 

She knew it was Paul. 

She at once opened the door and there stretched 
upon the floor was her husband. She immediately 
went to him and bent over him. 

“Paul! Oh, Paul! Are you hurt?” she agoniz- 
ingly entreated. 

Paul Hanley was insensibly drunk ! 

The two women succeeded after great effort in 
getting him upon the inside, and finally aroused him 
sufficiently, that with their aid he went into the bed- 
room, downstairs, where he fell helplessly on to the 
bed. 

Mildred pulled off his shoes and his coat and vest 
and then covered him up. 

Kneeling by the bedside, poor Mildred wept scald- 
ing tears that her heart prompted. 

“Oh, my God ! My God ! Is this the noble Paul, 
you once gave me?” she moaned. 

And then the faithful and loving wife threw her- 
self upon the breast of the snoring man and gave 
way to all of the pent up misery within her. 

“Paul! Paul! Dear Paul! Your Mildred’s 
heart is breaking. You do not love us any more.” 

After the mother had tried unavailingly, to induce 
her to go upstairs, she continued to remain with 
Paul. She took his coat and vest and was in the act 
of hanging them upon a chair, when she felt some- 


100 


A WOMAN’S FORGIVENESS 


thing heavy in the coat which proved to Be a bottle of 
whiskey. As she pulled it out, a letter was also 
drawn from the pocket, falling upon the floor. She 
stooped and picked it up. As she looked at it, she 
saw that it was postmarked at D., and she also readily 
noticed that the hand writing was that of a woman. 
The letter was addressed to Paul. 

She felt that she should not open it. And yet, was 
there great harm in doing so? 

She opened it. 

What she read froze the blood in her veins, and 
this was the letter: 

“My Sweetheart : 

“My darling boy will never know how much 
pleasure your sweet thoughtful letter brought 
me. And if you knew how my heart bounded 
with joy when I opened it and read it, you would 
write oftener. 

“And oh, my precious one, when on the next 
day I received that dearest of all presents which 
your great heart has given me, imagine my joy! 

A sealskin cloak ! Just to think of it I That has 
always been my greatest desire. 

“Oh, you old darling 1 How I love you ! And 
how I will love you when I see you. 

“Come to me, dear, that you may know how 
much I love you. 

“Yours always with love, 

Myra.” 

Suspicion, that founder of doubt, brings a tortur- 
ing jealousy that drives ever and ever into madness 


A WOMAN^S FORGIVENESS 


101 


of mind, and is one of the greatest punishments 
mentality can bear. 

But the realization of every doubt being resolved 
into the dreadfulness of reality and fact, is the 
genuine soul torture — the power that in the end 
actually breaks hearts. 

This good woman had, for months tried to sup- 
press thoughts and fears that had pursued her relent- 
lessly. She had long known of the waning love that 
she thought would ever be hers. She had not been 
satisfied with any of Paul’s answers or excuses to her, 
and now she was to learn that the worst fears were 
more than realized. 

What, oh, what must she do? The father of 
Aldine was unworthy of trust ! 

And oh the horror of it! She was to become a 
mother again! 

Pitying and merciful God! Was there no way 
that her heart could escape so much cruel punish- 
ment? 

She replaced the letter in Paul’s pocket and went 
upstairs to her child and lay by her side — but her 
lot was to suffer and not to sleep. 

Paul did not rise before noon. His awakening 
was one of sickness. He became a restless and 
nervous man. He was compelled to look around him 
several times before he realized where he was. 

Home ! Home ! 

When Mildred went to him he felt the great inten- 
sity of his bitterness of regret and remorse. He 
could see how keenly she had suffered. But still she 


102 


A WOMAN’S FORGIVENESS 


was by his side trying to help him through his sick- 
ness. She stroked his forehead, ran her fingers 
through his hair — she even laid her cheek against his 
and cried as did he. 

She said nothing at that time about the letter. 

When finally, he arose, pale and nervous, he had 
refused to eat or partake of anything but some coffee. 
He did not undertake to leave that day. He would 
sit and intently look into Mildred’s eyes apparently 
asking for her forgiveness. 

“Mildred,” he said as he nervously walked over 
to her, “I have put myself beyond the possibility of 
your forgiveness, I fear!” 

He knelt at her feet and put his head in her lap. 

“No Paul, while you have cruelly stabbed my 
heart, I will not say that I cannot forgive you. But 
Paul, while I want to forget, I want you to be man 
enough to explain some things to me. I am grieved 
that I should ever have seen my husband drunk. 
But as hard as it is, I can forgive you for it,” she 
replied. 

“Ah, my noble Mildred!” he cried. 

“But, Paul, I want you to explain to me the mean- 
ing of the letter which you have in your pocket,” she 
said significantly. 

“What letter?” he asked. 

“The letter you received from the wife of one of 
your fellow salesmen,” she answered. 

“Why Mildred, I never received any letter of that 
character,” he said with some show of alarm. 

“You told me that Myra Kiler was the wife of a 


A WOMAN^S FORGIVENESS 


103 


friend of yours. Now please read this letter which 
she so affectionately and gratefully wrote you/’ she; 
said. 

Paul put his hand in his pocket and drew out the 
letter which he did not remember having received, 
because of his intoxicated condition. 

He read the letter with a face which depicted the 
awfulness of his guilt. 

There was no escaping the situation. The tell 
tale letter could not be contradicted. There was no 
plausible excuse that he could offer now. 

“What have you to say Paul?” she coldly asked. 

“I can say nothing, except that I have mistreated 
you. I know that I cannot and dare not ask your 
forgiveness. My mind tells me that you would refuse 
it, as you should,” he said with his head slowly falling 
upon his breast. 

“Listen, Paul, you do not understand me. You 
have broken Mildren’s heart. I know now that you 
could have been kinder if you had killed me, rather 
than to make me live with a dead heart within me. 
For the sake of Aldine I want you to be a man, Paul. 
She has no right to have such a father as you are 
making of yourself. And oh, if you only would, 
Paul, you could revive my own dead heart. Will 
you Paul? Dear Paul, will you not? You see that 
I am asking for myself last. Aldine’s rights are first. 
She has a right to intervene. I will do what any 
mother should do for her child. Speak to me, Paul ! 
Speak man ! I beg of you.” 

Paul Hanley beheld the weeping woman before 


104 


A WOMAN’S FORGIVENESS 


him. Her face evinced all the suffering she had 
undergone. She was pleading for her child and for 
herself last. 

“Listen, Mildred, I promise you that I will be a 
better man and that I will sever all relations with 
Myra Kiler, if you will only forgive me,” he 
answered not with any great feeling, but he had 
spoken seriously and directly. 

Mildred ran to him and threw her arms around 
him. He took her into his lap and with her head 
upon his breast she said: 

“Oh, Paul, if you want to save Mildred, you will 
remain true to your promise, for you are gradually 
destroying my mind and heart,” and saying as much, 
she burst into tears and constant sobbing that 
revealed how great was the agony of her heart. 

The noble hearted woman had done that which 
the world has ever required woman to do and that 
which she has always done. 

She had really forgiven the great sin of her hus- 
band. 

Kind reader, do I overdraw the picture? 

Do you not remember many sad faced Mildreds 
whose loyal hearts and life’s dreams of happiness 
have been broken and shattered and whose pathways 
have taken them through endless sorrow and gloom, 
because of forsaken loves? Can you not recall many 
Mildreds who, though spurned, crushed and de- 
serted, yet through all their suffering and tears could 
smile at the slightest promise of reform and freely 
forgive ? 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE BROKEN HEART. 

HERE had been a most valuable addition to 
the choir of the Presbyterian Church. Wil- 
lard Gordon who had been perfecting his 
musical studies with a view of making use of his won- 
derful bass voice, was now located In C. — with his 
wealthy father. He had delighted congregations 
and audiences to such an extent that there was a 
most noticeable Increase In attendance at church serv- 
ices, and It was generally conceded that the great rich 
voice of the easterner was directly responsible for It. 
Members of the church and spectators alike were 
always attracted by the usual services and by the 
never falling and good sermon of Dr. Eldred; but 
when the handsome soloist arose and began one of his 
renditions. It was easy to observe the real attraction. 
He was Invariably given a special number at every 
service. And as the deep rich and mellow roll of 
his voice with rythmic vibration, found Its way with 
great charm to every ear he was an easy master. His 
assistance gratuitously rendered to the choir, became 
most Invaluable. With his splendid voice and added 
abilities as a director, he and Mildred had brought 



106 


THE BROKEN HEART 


the standard of the choir to an advanced status, of a 
very high order. 

Willard Gordon was not only a much sought after 
man on account of his musical abilities, but he became 
an indispensably important social factor in all circles. 
The very high standing of his own family in C. had 
made his entrance into the society of C. an easy 
matter. His very handsome face and commanding 
figure, with his polish of refined manner had made of 
him a very attractive man. 

Urbane and gentlemanly, he became deservedly a 
most popular man, and easily ingratiated himself into 
the favor of the citizens, generally. 

At the regular meeting for practice of the choir 
on every Friday night, Willard Gordon was always 
present, with his pleasant manners and great good 
humor. He was passionately fond of music and had 
not failed to note and appreciate the abilities of 
Mildred. Their community of tastes and accom- 
plishments had made for them a most agreeable 
companionship, and thrown together very often, they 
had become very good friends. 

When he sang at some public entertainment, she 
always was his accompanist, and on many occasions 
he would be her escort home after such events and 
from choir practice. At social gatherings he was an 
invited and entertained guest at her home, at which 
time he never failed in his assistance at delighting her 
guests with his marvelous voice. 

To her, he was always most gentlemanly in his 
conduct, and she had properly very much admired 


THE BROKEN HEART 


107 


him. He was capable of, and lost no opportunity to 
show his thoughtful consideration of others and their 
rights. At times, he would enter energetically into 
church work and his jovial and laughing face became 
somewhat familiar with the poor as he would come 
into contact with them. 

He never knew of the great sorrow that had 
entered the heart of Mildred, though on many occa- 
sions, he easily perceived what he thought to be a 
saddened expression in contrast with his first recollec- 
tions of her. Once he had said to her as he had re- 
garded the apparent change : 

‘T am afraid that my friend is not feeling as well 
as usual. Am I right, my dear Mrs. Hanley?” 

“Why no, I am not, now, and have not been In 
my usual good health ; but know that I shall soon be 
myself again,” she had politely replied. 

She did not tell him, as she could have done the 
cause of the change In her appearance. She had, of 
course, silently borne her afflictions, having no con- 
fidant but her mother, to whom she alone took her 
heavy heart. 

With the coming of April, Mildred had again 
become a mother — this time of a little baby boy, 
whom she afterwards had named George. 

Though Paul had known of the coming event, he 
was not at home to greet the advent of his son. It 
was the cause of added grief to the dear mother and 
her heart keenly felt the affront motherhood so much 
would resent. 


108 


THE BROKEN HEART 


Dr. Larken had commented upon his absence, In 
a most delicate way, by saying : 

‘Tt is too bad that Paul could not have been here. 
I am sure he is detained unavoidably.” 

But Mildred knew better. She felt and knew that 
his heart had taken him to the side of another. 

After all the promises he had made her, she had 
Information of a most reliable source that he had now 
become more attentive to Myra Kiler than ever 
before. 

And indeed, the information to that effect was 
woefully accurate. 

For poor Paul had not been able to keep his prom- 
ise to Mildred. He had gone directly from 
Mildred’s arms, after all of her entreaties and tears, 
to the embraces of the woman who was ruining his 
own heart, where he had lingered long into the 
night. 

He had lavishly showered costly gifts and presents 
upon her, of every description. Had provided her 
with a most expensive piano and had pandered to the 
most erratic whims and fancies of the woman, and 
was always content to listen to her endearments, and 
her more than necessary thanks. He had hung upon 
her — “I love you,” and had believed her. He trusted 
her implicitly. 

He had descended to that last round of the ladder, 
when he even consulted with the woman as to their 
prospective marriage, when Mildred should divorce 
him. 

In the meantime, he continued to worship at her 


THE BROKEN HEART 


109 


feet with a fawning, that to her became repulsive; 
but she continued to be a willing recipient of all the 
munificence of pretentious gifts and costly presents, 
which he continued to bestow upon her. 

Mildred had consulted her faithful friend,, Robert 
McElroy, who was a prominent young lawyer at M. 
and he had learned without difficulty of the extent to 
which Paul’s degradation had carried him. 

From once being regarded as the proud and loyal 
husband, his love affair was the jest of the road and 
was referred to as ‘Tol’s love.” 

How indeed, the mighty had fallen! And Mil- 
dred knew it all. 

She felt and knew, too, that Paul had unjustly 
murdered her love. She was a changed woman. 

As she lay in bed, with her second babe by her side 
and slowly recovered, she felt all the love of her heart 
leave. And when he would return home, now and 
then, she no longer was the Mildred of old, to 
him. She was cold and distant toward him and he 
saw and felt it. She no longer met him at the door 
with her love kiss, nor did she have the ready fond- 
ness in the farewell of other days. There was no 
doubt of it now! The chasm was hopelessly wide 
which he had constructed. 

There remained only the burial of Mildred’s love. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


FILLING OF THE VOID. 

ITH well barred doors, drawn curtains and 
sealed lips, that attempt to keep from the 
public the individual sorrows of the home, 
there ever comes the time, however, when they filter 
through walls to listening ears and are then taken up 
with gossiping tongues to be disseminated throughout 
every avenue and channel of the little worlds lived 
in. Very often, indeed, are the bitter hours of the 
sad, lonely and broken heart, the common property 
of the world, buffeted around and distorted or made 
to grow with each telling and repetition of the heart’s 
sad story. 

And so, it was not long until the waywardness of 
Paul and the misery of Mildred became the talk 
of the little town. 

There were many friends of Mildred who silently 
sympathized with her, though she bravely attempted 
to keep her saddened secrets locked within her own 
breast, secure from others. 

Yet, when the little baby boy had become several 
months old, she had with much fortitude undertaken 
to mingle with her old friends, with an affectation of 
her former self. 



FILLING OF THE VOID 


111 


But there were a few whom she did not deceive, 
and who were enabled to easily penetrate her disguise 
and know her real heart. 

Among them was Willard Gordon. He, as had 
many others, had learned of the cruelty of the strange 
and much changed husband toward her. 

When walking home with her from a choir meet- 
ing, he had not hesitated to boldly but gentlemanly, 
address her upon the subject. 

“Mrs. Hanley, I know you will not take offense 
at what I am going to say to you. You are a noble 
woman worthy of the very greatest happiness in the 
world. And with recognition of the fact, that we 
have been and are old friends, I want to tell you how 
deeply I sympathize with you in the. intense unhappi- 
ness you are experiencing. Do not attempt to deny 
it to me. I know it, and every one knows how 
unjustly you are suffering. Dear friend, know then 
how genuinely my heart goes out to you.” 

Mildred did not attempt to deny, but upon the 
contrary she sighed heavily and replied to him; 

“You do not know how much I appreciate your 
dear sympathy for me, my good friend. I would 
expect nothing else from you. I sometimes think it 
is more than I can bear — and I fear I cannot stand it 
much longer,” she sadly replied. 

They had reached her home and as he turned to 
leave her at the front door, he extended his hand and 
with much feeling said, as he held her hand in his: 

“Dear Mrs. Hanley, whatever happens will you 
remember me as a true and devoted friend?” 


112 


FILLING OF THE VOID 


‘‘Oh, I shall not forget, and I would have known as 
much if you had not so told me, dear friend,” she said 
to him as she responded to the gentle pressure of his 
hand and had turned and entered the front door. 

It was now December, and the usual plans and 
preparations were being made by the various churches 
for the coming of the Xmas Day. Provision was 
being made for the usual distribution of charities, and 
entertainments as well as necessary effort for appro- 
priate church services, had brought into activity, the 
membership of the Presbyterian church. 

At many of their meetings, Mildred and Willard 
Gordon were frequently thrown into each other’s 
company. 

Frequent reference was made, when they were 
alone, to Paul. She appreciated the kindly sympathy 
which he extended her and was not averse to frankly 
discussing it with him. 

In fact, she seemed to derive comfort from all 
that he said. 

Their friendship for each other had commenced 
to grow until it seemed most natural for them to be 
together. He never failed to take her home and on 
one or two occasions had entered her home for a 
short while. 

Once, when they had reached her home and while 
they were discussing some feature of a church exer- 
cise, as they stood standing in the hallway after 
entering, he had taken her hand in his. He looked 
her fairly in the face. 


FILLING OF THE VOID 


113 


She returned his look and thought she could read 
that which was more than mere friendship. 

“Unhappy woman, can you not see and do you not 
know how my heart has become yours? Is it so 
wrong for me to tell you as much? Can I hope ever 
to claim your heart as mine? I love you Mildred 
Hanley!” he impetuously cried as he attempted to 
place his arms around her. 

Mildred hastily stepped away from him and with 
some show of feeling said: 

“No, Mr. Gordon, you forget yourself I You have 
no right to address me upon that subject. My hus- 
band has been unjust to me in all of his mistreatment 
of me, but I am still his wife and you must treat me 
as such. I am grateful for your sympathy and friend- 
ship, which I prize more highly than that of any 
one. But you must appreciate my position, my 
friend.” 

She saw that her friend had been keenly hurt by 
what she had said. He had evidenced his great 
embarrassment, and was turning to leave, when he 
said: 

“Forgive me! Forgive me! If I have hurt you. 
I will not do so again,” and walked to the door. 

“But Mr. Gordon, my dear friend,” she at once 
said, “you are hurt at something I have said. You 
shall not leave me feeling as you do.” 

She walked to him, and putting her hands, one 
upon each shoulder, continued: 

“Dear, dear friend, you must not take offence at 
what poor Mildred has said to you. You have 


114 


FILLING OF THE VOID 


become so necessary to me in all of your noble friend- 
ship, I cannot let you leave me in your present frame 
of mind.” 

‘‘You have not offended me, nor can you by any- 
thing you may say. My dear woman, I know that I 
have done very wrong in what I have said to you. It 
was only my heart that was attempting to speak to 
you. You must not pay any attention to me. But 
you must let me tell you as you must already know, 
that I yield myself in admiration for you that will 
always make me your slave. I know that I must 
surrender whatever there may be of impulse as 
toward you. I must respect your rights of woman- 
hood and must appreciate the position you occupy.” 

When he had gone and Mildred was alone, she 
succumbed to the unhappiness of her saddened condi- 
tion. She had begun to feel her loneliness and to 
yield to a most hopeless view of what the future 
might have in store for her. She sat looking into 
what would under any other conditions, have been 
the cheerful fireplace; but as she looked, every flame 
seemed to spell the misery she was every hour com- 
pelled to experience and to mock at even the possi- 
bility of any hope of happiness. 

She thought of the words of Willard Gordon. 

Though she did not feel that she loved him, yet 
she very much admired him and began to chide her- 
self with having given possible offense to him. 

When next she saw him at a rehearsal, he was 
politely courteous to her, but there was something 
lacking in his usual manner toward her and she had 


FILLING OF THE VOID 


115 


purposely avoided him afterwards and had walked 
home in company with others who were going up her 
street. 

She attended the next choir meeting and could see 
that he was keeping away from her and she had again 
gone home without his accompanying her. 

She began to think she had lost a good friend. 

It was now the week before Xmas. 

Paul had not even written to her for more than 
two weeks. She Indeed felt herself a deserted woman. 
The world was preparing to show its happiness and 
receive its distributed offerings of joy. There was 
“no peace and good will” that she could enjoy, how- 
ever. 

Her heart, torn with Paul’s infidelity and beset and 
beselged with dark and hovering clouds, always, 
how long, oh how long, must she continue to suffer? 

Added to all of her woes, Robert McElroy had 
written her that Paul had continued his Increasing 
madness in his love for Myra Kiler and that he had 
been seen in St. Louis a week before with her. 

She had gone to the opera house, that evening 
where the last rehearsal was had for an entertain- 
ment, In which Willard Gordon was to sing. She 
was to play his accompaniment. 

She had played for him and as that great voice 
of his sang a famous song, she felt a strange Influence 
come over her; — she felt that the power of his voice. 
In a measure denoted the man. 

Before the end of the rehearsal, she contrived to 


116 


FILLING OF THE VOID 


go to him and in a voice he had never heard before, 
said to him : 

‘T want you to take me home tonight. Will you?** 

He eagerly answered her in the affirmative. 

After the rehearsal she found herself once more 
by the side of her friend. 

As they walked up the street toward home, she had 
said to him: 

“You have made up your mind to remain away 
from me and I did not propose having you do so. 
Now, aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” 

Just as she spoke they reached the steps. It had 
commenced to rain, and she had invited him in. Upon 
entering she had led him into the sitting room where 
there was a cheerful fire. 

When he had seated himself, she reminded him 
that he had not answered her question. 

Willard Gordon arose and went to her as she 
stood near the open grate and said: 

“Do you really want me to answer?” as she looked 
startlingly into the face of the approaching man. 

“Yes,” she said in a low tone of voice. 

He held out his hand toward her. She placed her’s 
within it. 

With his eyes yearningly telling his love for her, 
he drew the unhappy woman to him and in a 
moment more she was in the strong man’s arms. 
Clasped and firmly held by him, Williard Gordon 
kissed lips that had been touched by but one other 
man. 

He felt the heaving breast that had known the 


FILLING OF THE VOID 


117 


impress of only her husband. She lay in his arms 
with fast falling tears. He felt her sobbing until her 
body trembled. 

“My answer is that I love you, Mildred,” he said 
at last to her. 

“Oh, Mr. Gordon, I know I offend, in my wrong 
doing; but my desolate heart was all alone in the 
solitude of suffering,” she cried out. 

And Mildred Hanley was but a woman after all. 
But dear reader, while there is no effort at defense 
of her surrender to the overtures of Willard Gordon, 
let me ask for the sake of mitigation of the punish- 
ment you would give, at least that you view the ex- 
tenuating circumstances that should speak for the 
unhappy woman. With a love for a man capable of 
the noblest of all sacrifices ; that had concentrated it- 
self upon the man of her choice; that had made her 
bear children for him, she had felt that love scorned 
and trampled upon, stultified and cast aside. She had 
seen her husband turn from professed love and de- 
part from her breast of purest affection and convert 
it, through the wiles of wicked womanhood, into a 
debased worship of another. She had seen the de- 
sertion of herself and their newly born. She had felt 
the breaking and shattering of her heart into many 
pieces. She was alone, unhappy and unjustly so — 
desolate and miserable ! 

She had yearned for an awakening of her own 
dead heart. She had sought to reform the broken 
fragments with the love of another. Her heart was 
left with the great unoccupied voids that desertion 


118 


FILLING OF THE VOID 


had created. She, like most women had sought sym- 
pathy. May I not ask that some leniency be extended 
by you as you hear the woman’s side? 

After this meeting between Mildred and Gordon, 
there were many conferences between them. They 
continued to meet as before and had seen much of 
each other. 

On the Tuesday just preceding Xmas they had 
met at a practice meeting, and he had told her that 
he would see her at her borne on Thursday evening, 
as he was to be out of town on Wednesday. This 
remark was evidently overheard by some one, as the 
succeeding chapters clearly show, and was doubtless 
responsible for all that happened afterward. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE AWAKENING. 

YRA KILER was of that type of woman, by 
no means new to the world. From time 
immemorial, her counterpart has been a fre- 
quenter and marauder upon the highways and high 
seas of society. Whether bandit or pirate, disguised 
in the garb of respectability and armed with those 
deadly weapons, the charm and beauty of face and 
form, she has ever been the prototype of the alluring 
candle flame, around which circle the human moths, 
that are eventually drawn to their irresistible doom. 
With access to the domain of her victims made easy, 
by reason of the weakness of man and actuated by 
her cruelty of nature or design and aided by her 
abilities as an actress, she has been enabled to make 
most liberal contributions to the unhappiness of all 
time. Wherever found, whether despoiling the home 
or scuttling the bark of love, the accomplishment of 
progress by her in her slimy and sinuous way, never 
fails to lay bare and bleeding once happy hearts as 
the results of her well plied vocation of Infamy. 

Though of varying types, whether In pursuit of 
gain for herself in the form of money, rank and 
station, or whether being guided by the wickedness of 
depraved heart, or whether unconsciously by means 
of mere flirtatious methods, she finds her pathways 



120 


THE AWAKENING 


made always less difficult by reason of the frailties 
of man in his great egotism and vanity upon which 
she always preys. For it is the truthful commentary 
and observation, that her conquests are more often 
found to be the result of the great confidence that man 
has in himself rather than his confidence in the 
opposite self. Long ago, woman learned that her 
charm of beauty and form could be used as meshes of 
the snare, that has never ceased to be prepared for 
the unsuspecting and susceptible man and it is equally 
true that such a well set trap has seldom failed to 
catch and hold man as a victim. A woman is 
endowed with great faculties for knowing and meas- 
uring man and concentrates her powers upon the 
weakness of his armor, accordingly. She knows 
him better than he knows himself, while, he, upon 
the other hand, knows but little of her and less about 
himself. While justice would demand an equal dis- 
tribution of censure in cases of the unlawful or unholy 
loves of man and woman, yet, after all, woman 
becomes the sculptress and man is the pitifully pliable 
piece of clay with which she works. 

When once fettered by such women, men become 
subserviently submissive in the imagined fervor of 
their idolatrous affection. Though conscious of being 
forbidden and of all of the unhappiness entailed, man 
will love without stint. He will kneel at the feet of 
the temptress, though he knows he is scoffing at 
honor, duty, love and law. He is enabled to see the 
falling tears of the deserted one and all the happiness 
that has been destroyed; and yet, he will turn and 


THE AWAKENING 


121 


rush to the arms of the siren, listening to the purring 
and practiced accents of pretended love, and give 
renewal of his promises of devotion to his destroyer. 

Such was the enthralldom of Paul Hanley, and 
such was the character of the woman at whose feet 
he worshipped. Coming always at her beck and 
call, he had become a most useful instrumentality for 
her own welfare, at the same time, knowingly blight- 
ing and destroying the pure heart of Mildred Han- 
ley. At times, he felt himself doubting the loyalty of 
the woman; and he began to suspect that she was 
receiving the attentions of other men. But, on such 
occasions, she easily would convince him to the con- 
trary, with ingenuity of excuse and adroitness of 
falsehood. She had taught him that he must not 
ask her questions and that he must have confidence 
in her. 

And along these lines, he had proven himself a 
most obedient pupil. He did trust her in all of his 
blindness and surrendered himself helplessly to his 
infatuation. 

When too late, poor Paul’s eyes were finally 
opened. About two weeks before Xmas, he had 
suggested to the woman that he would reach D. on 
a certain night when he would see and be with her ; 
but she had shrewdly excused herself from the 
appointment by telling him that she and her mother 
intended driving to a neighboring town upon a visit 
to a friend where they would witness certain church 
exercises. Paul, not only acquiesced in her arrange- 
ment, but rather took some pride in the fact that she 


122 


THE AWAKENING 


should become Interested in anything pertaining to 
church affairs. With well feigned regret, she had 
stated to him that she would forego her trip, how- 
ever, and see him if he insisted. 

He had been deceived by her willingness to meet 
him, and had promptly refused to permit her being 
denied the pleasure of the trip with her mother, and 
had told her that he would continue his work upon 
the road on that day. 

When they parted, however, she had appealed to 
his vanity immensely by making him promise that he 
would not go to C. his home on the following Sunday. 
Receiving his assurance that he would not, she had 
told him good bye with great affection, kissing him 
time and again. 

For some reason, on the day before she was to 
drive to the village to witness the church ceremonies, 
Paul concluded to go to St. Louis in connection with 
the affairs of his house. He remained the next day, 
and was busily engaged with other members of the 
firm at their place of business until a late hour during 
the night. 

Upon leaving the office of his firm, he had gone 
directly to the M. hotel, where he was accustomed 
to stop, and being tired, had gone to his room where 
he soon fell asleep. 

The next morning, upon arising and dressing him- 
self, he was in the act of opening his door into the 
hallway, when he sustained a very severe shock that 
he was not prepared for. 

With his door partially opened, he heard a voice 


THE AWAKENING 


123 


that was very familiar to him. He remained within 
his room a short time and heard the door across the 
hallway from him being closed and afterwards, a 
man and woman walk down the hallway toward the 
elevator. Very soon afterwards, he followed behind 
the couple, reaching the elevator landing just as the 
pair had entered the elevator. The face of the 
woman was now turned toward him. 

Paul looked into the face of Myra Kiler. 

When he faced the guilty woman who had appar- 
ently been selling herself to him body and soul, her 
gasp of astonishment and bewilderment, indicated 
her great embarrassment and discomfiture. 

His one glance at her at that time was his last. 
When he reached the office floor, he immediately went 
to the clerk’s desk and looking upon the register, to 
see who had occupied room 400 across from his own 
room. This is what he found: 

“G. Brody and Wife.” 

He needed no further information. Though 
somewhat slow in being finally educated upon one 
certain question, he was suddenly made to really 
know the woman who had been so surely dragging 
him to his ruin. 

The vampire had succeeded in extracting all the 
life-blood from his happiness and had left him a dis- 
honored man ; and now with the love of his wife gone, 
his own love prostituted by reason of contact with the 
wiles of this woman and his self-respect gone forever, 
with the infamy of the adventuress before him, he 
looked long and silently into the dark and gloomy 


124 


THE AWAKENING 


picture of the past that he had made, by reason of 
straying from the virtuous love of Mildred. 

As he walked away from the hotel register, he at 
once saw the helplessness of his position revealed to 
him and sat down in the first convenient chair in the 
rotunda of the hotel. There he sat motionlessly gaz- 
ing ahead of him, seeing nothing and perfectly uncon- 
scious of his surroundings. He did not see the con- 
stant stream of patrons of the hotel passing by him. 
He was lost in the greatness of despondency which 
was now overwhelming him. The false hopes which 
had cruelly led him on in his love for Myra Kiler, 
crushed with the revelation of her falsity, had at last 
revealed to him the enormity of his weakness and 
there lay before his vision his complete and unhappy 
undoing. 

With his brain racked, in an attempt to muster 
mental strength that would enable him to face his 
disaster, he surrendered himself, with undrawn sword 
to the helplessness of most awful despair. Following 
in the footsteps of the many who had gone before 
and who have been surrounded with overpowering 
conditions of sorrow and adversity, he sought the 
nearest bar, where he endeavored to drown, but 
where in fact, he intensified his sorrows. 

Hour after hour Paul Hanley sat at the table in 
the saloon, and not mindful of the presence of others, 
pouring glass after glass of strongest liquor from the 
large decanter before him upon the table. Even- 
tually reaching a stage of intoxication which called 
the attention of waiters to his condition, he gradually 


THE AWAKENING 


125 


sank into drunken insensibility, letting the glass fall 
from his lips in an attempt to take the last drink, his 
head pillowed upon his arm as he fell over upon the 
table. 

He did not know the next morning how or when 
he had reached his room at the hotel. When he 
awoke he found himself stretched upon the bed 
without having removed his clothes. And now when 
he arose and staggered across the room and stood 
before the dresser he beheld a most wretched appear- 
ance so utterly unlike his former self. 

In a moment there flashed across his mind the 
events of the day before. His first thoughts of Myra 
Kiler were those of more than loathing, contempt and 
hatred. Supplanting any recollection of her came 
visions of his home where he imagined he could see 
Mildred and his little children. His heart at last 
began to beat and flutteringly carry him to the little 
home his absence of manhood had wrecked and 
despoiled, as his anguish overwhelmed him and 
merciless remorse reproached and punished him. 

Finally, as he stood gazing upon the tortured and 
troubled face before him, contemplating the great 
sea of troubles that resulted from his own conduct, 
with the knowledge that after all there remained 
but small semblance of the one time Paul Hanley, his 
face spelled despair. Confronted by the saddened 
and tear stained face of Mildred the mother of his 
children, he beheld the fast gathering tears roll down 
his face, being overcome by the terrible mental an- 
guish and torture that had at last come. 


126 


THE AWAKENING 


With unsteady steps the miserable man returned 
to his bed and gave himself up to the hideousness of 
most awful suffering. Sick in body by reason of his 
dissipation and with the attendant nervousness natur- 
ally following, he lay for hours brooding over the 
troubles that seemed to multiply as time wore on. 

What could he do now? 

He knew that he had no right to even ask, much 
less expect Mildred to take him back to her heart 
after he had so ruthlessly broken all the promises he 
had made. 

Perplexed as he was in mind, unable to determine 
what course to pursue, after recovering from his 
dissipation, he had taken to the road again, a changed 
and thoroughly saddened man. For days and days 
thereafter he visited his patrons with but little inter- 
est in his business and with his mind and heart always 
taking him back to the home that he had dishonored. 
He eventually, however, resolved that he would 
return to Mildred, the thoroughly penitent and 
remorseful man that he was, humiliated in all of his 
shame, and throw himself at her feet and plead in 
most manly spirit for the forgiveness he feared could 
never be his again. 

It was approaching the end of the year and he had 
expected taking his final visit to St. Louis and make 
arrangements for the coming year, before the holi- 
days. So, finding himself in the southern part of his 
territory one evening, he determined to return one 
Wednesday night and see Mildred and his children 
on his way to St. Louis. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE TRAGEDY. 

HEN Mildred was aroused from her sleep 
about one o’clock that night to let him in the 
house, she found Paul apparently elated upon 
seeing her as he embraced her at the door. She 
could see and easily discern less evidence of worry 
than heretofore and her own heart was lightened by 
Infection from his own affections and enthusiasm of 
feelings. There was for the time being an awaken- 
ing of that old time love for Paul, and when he had 
finally given way to heaviness of deep slumber, Mil- 
dred found wakeful hours before her, as she lay by 
her husband’s side. As each minute and hour slowly 
dragged by. It was with many a sigh and countless 
heart throbs, before she finally closed her eyes in a 
most welcome slumber. With Indisputable evidence 
of the faithlessness of Paul having been long ago 
secured, she yet felt the aroused anger of her woman- 
hood toward him. And, yet, ought she not make the 
final effort to forgive once more? Must she, even 
now, turn to him and with tender embrace encircle 
him with her arms and tell him that she had forgiven 
him? Did not the face, the eyes and the voice of 
little Aldine command her to do so? Once, she had 



128 


THE TRAGEDY 


even put her arm over her sleeping husband, as her 
love for her children impelled, but before he was 
awakened, she could picture the mistreatment she 
had suffered from his hands. She could hear too, 
the voice of Willard Gordon, telling again of his 
love. She could recall the letter which she had found 
in Paul’s coat-pocket not many months before. She 
withdrew her arm. 

The next morning, as they arose, there was the 
same indifference of feeling of past months. They 
were courteous. He was solicitous, even. He com- 
mented upon her apparent lack of sleep, but she pro- 
fessed no inconvenience. As they sat at the break- 
fast table, Aldine came running Into the room and 
sprang into her father’s lap. Yet as that cold Decem- 
ber morning was cloudy and forbidding without, so 
it was within, — the same barrier. Mrs. Andrews, 
in her feeble way attempted to lighten the situation, 
by playfully teasing Aldine and by attempting to start 
a conversation for all of them. But it was a fruitless 
effort. They were each yielding to the intensity of 
unhappiness that comes to outraged womanhood. 

Paul had remained at home during the rest of the 
day until he was ready to go to the station to take his 
train. He had spoken to Mildred about his absence, 
for a few days. Upon being interrogated as to when 
he would return, he had told her that he would come 
back Saturday in plenty of time for the Xmas cele- 
bration. He had even been jubilant in spirit, and 
time after time, had sought to draw her Into extended 
conversation. He had kissed her once, as she was 


THE TRAGEDY 


129 


standing by the fire place. She did not resent his 
overtures, but he could easily see that his attentions 
were not invited. He could not, however, summon 
sufficient courage to again ask for her forgiveness. 

Reluctantly, Mildred accompanied him to the 
station, and as they walked down the street, went 
with him into the post office, where Paul received 
some mail, which had accumulated. This he did not 
even open, but put into his overcoat pocket. Before 
they started from their home, it had begun to snow, 
and as they reached the station, the increasing storm 
had mantled everything, with its white covering. As 
they went upon the inside and looked out, it was easy 
to be seen that a heavy snow would fall. 

It was some fifteen minutes of train time. Paul 
and Mildred were standing upon the inside of the 
waiting room when suddenly she saw Willard Gordon 
pass the window. Paul did not see him. Shortly 
afterward, Mildred complained of illness and Paul 
had taken her to the outside. Her illness was by no 
means feigned. The cool air, however, soon restored 
her, and by the time the train rolled into the station, 
she had entirely recovered her composure. As the 
train pulled out from the little station, Paul had 
kissed Mildred fondly, and sprang upon the steps 
of the last car. Standing upon the platform of the 
train, he looked back and saw Mildred. He could 
see that she had put her handkerchief to her face, 
and that she was crying. He was wondering why. 
A fellow salesman and an acquaintance of years, had 
observed the conduct also, of his wife. 


130 


THE TRAGEDY 


“Ah, Paul, my boy,” he said, “If I only had some 
queen of a woman to shed a tear for me, when I am 
to be gone only a few days, I would be the happiest 
man in all the world.” 

And so the vanity of this man came to his rescue. 
Was it possible that Mildred was hiding her real 
feelings from him and that after all, she was so 
anxious for him to return, so sorry for him to go? 
The suggestion more than pleased him. He even 
smiled into the face of his friend, his pleasurable 
pride. Deeply conscious of his many Indiscretions 
and escapades and of his confessed betrayal of his 
wife, yet there was a man’s Inherent weakness that 
so ensconces him in his own egotism, that he could 
forget all the crimes he had committed against her 
love for him and satisfy himself that her tears were 
because of her deep love and because of her longing 
for him to return. 

Self-satisfied as he was, Paul had taken a seat in 
the coach and had begun to open his mail. 

H is first letter was from his house. It caused him 
great pleasure. In recognition of his highly appre- 
ciated services, his house had proffered him an 
increase of salary to the extent of $1,000.00. So 
pleased was he, that he had handed the letter con- 
taining the news of his good fortune, to his friend, 
McFarland, saying: 

“Read that Me.” 

The next letter which he opened did not contain 
such pleasing Information. The first effect of 
reading, was that the smile was driven away. He 


THE TRAGEDY 


131 


read it again! His friend, McFarland had returned 
his letter and was congratulating him upon his good 
fortune. Paul did not even hear what he said. 
Again he read his second letter. It was an anony- 
mous letter, dropped into the post office at C. It 
was all poison and this was what he read: 

‘Tf you would take the trouble to watch your 
house Thursday night, you will learn of your wife’s 
infidelity.” 

As usual, such communications are signed, “A 
friend.” 

How strange, indeed, how strange it is that the 
poisoned arrows shot from ambush by the hidden 
foe, scarcely fail to strike the intended victim. A 
man would resent an imputation cast upon some 
one near and dear to him and would refuse to believe 
his best friend if such information should come from 
such a source. He would disbelieve, and for that 
reason, real friendship has often hesitated its proffer, 
knowing how difficult of belief is such information. 
Yet, let the serpentine hiss be from the dark, and 
observe its immediate trail of mental disaster. The 
crime committed of sending such a communication, 
while the author puts himself in hiding to await the 
intensity of wounds inflicted, is not lessened because 
the truth may be told. He is the footpad of all 
society, who delights in the suffering and woes of 
others, always preying upon the misfortune of others 
and without gain except the pleasure of causing suffer- 
ing and sorrow. The offender is found to have and 
wear many disguises. He is the author of, “I 


132 


THE TRAGEDY 


heard,” and “They tell me” and of “I don’t believe 
it, but I heard.” It is the usual parasitic cowardice 
that we encounter throughout every avenue of life, 
that is ever breathing and breeding trouble and that 
never accomplished anything but wreck and ruin. 

Paul had crushed the letter in his hand. The in- 
dignation that comes from manliness and trust, made 
his face livid with rage that any accusation should 
ever be made against Mildred. How he would crush 
the miserable wretch who dared to breathe aught 
against her. He knew the extent of his own de- 
pravity. But Mildred, the mother of Aldine and 
their little baby? How cruel! For a few moments 
his great confidence and belief in Mildred, calmed 
him and he felt the nobility of the impulse that 
impelled disbelief. But he found himself ill at ease 
and disturbed. He walked to the other end of the 
car and back. Try as he did, he could not drive away 
the effect of the letter. Why should any one write it? 
Was the author an enemy of Mildred or himself? 

The train was now nearing a little station called 
Range, some ten miles above C. The snow 
storm was increasing in fury and it was rapidly 
growing dark. The whistle was blown for the station 
and the train was coming to a stop. After taking 
aboard a few passengers, it had started to pull out. 
Just as the conductor had boarded his train, Paul 
jumped from the car upon the north end of the plat- 
form. He had a small suit case with him. This he 
took to the store of a friend and customer. He 
remained in the store house for some time engaged in 


THE TRAGEDY 


133 


conversation with the store keeper. At about 8 
o’clock he suddenly left saying he would go to the 
little hotel across the railroad, and remain for the 
night. 

Paul, however, in a few minutes was walking 
down the railway track toward C. The intended 
mission of the letter writer was accomplished. He 
had resolved to return to C. and he did not intend 
that he should be seen as he went. 

The falling snow had now become several inches 
deep and there was no evidence of its soon abating. 

As he walked down the track, surging through his 
mind, were the many varied and conflicting emotions, 
to which he had never before been subjected. At 
times he would grow cold, and then again, with the 
stride with which he walked, he would find himself 
perspiring with his effort. Now and then, he felt the 
mortification and shame that came to him, because 
his long and lonely walk was dishonoring Mildred, 
whom he knew to be guiltless of every wrong. 

Then he regretted his determination to return. But 
he walked on. His heart was heavy and his mind 
mad. More than once he found himself clutching the 
pistol which he had secured at Range. At times 
he fancied the snow was becoming very deep and 
that he was becoming very tired! But when he 
thought of the letter and vividly saw its contents, he 
would renew his efforts with quickened pace. 

He had ample time to revolve in his mind many of 
the events of the past that had become darkened 
shadows, he fain would dispel. Through them all. 


134 


THE TRAGEDY 


he saw the innumerable errors of the past few months 
of his life. As he looked back he cursed and blamed 
himself and those who had contributed to his misfor- 
tunes. He berated himself that when once he had 
secured the forgiveness of Mildred, that he did not 
profit by the mistakes that he had made and have led 
the life she was entitled to expect of his promises. 
Ah yes, he knew it all but too well, now ! But when 
he reached her tonight, he would tell her his heart 
was still true, and she in the goodness of her own 
heart, would forgive him again! He would not 
tell her his real reason for returning; but he would 
tell her that his heart had impelled him to do so. At 
the time of such thoughts, the words of the letter 
would appear in larger letters than before I 

It was now about midnight. He had reached the 
outskirts of C. Here, for the first time, he stopped 
since he left Range. He could go on down the 
track and stop at the hotel for the night, and banish 
from his mind every evil thought and suspicion of 
Mildred engendered by the poisoned letter, or he 
could take a roundabout way, and reach his home 
without observation. Distrust dictated the way; and 
within an hour he reached the rear of the home where 
he once knew happiness to reign. 

He passed through a rear gate and cautiously 
approached the house. All seemed dark and quiet. 
No sound could be heard and as he looked up to his 
wife’s bedroom, there was no light to be seen, which 
caused him to again upbraid himself for his cowardly 
and dishonorable conduct. He stood on the porch 



He felt sure that he heard the voice ot a man within. 







THE TRAGEDY 


137 


near the kitchen where he was protected from the 
falling snow and debated as to what he should do. 
Having no key he determined to go around the house 
and boldly ring the bell at the front door. Having 
so concluded, he started around upon the east side 
of the house toward the front porch. 

He had gone but a few yards, when he halted. 
Did he and could he trust his own eyes? Did not the 
snow blind him? 

Was there not a light coming through between the 
curtain and the window casing upon the inside of the 
window of the downstairs bedroom? He could not 
be mistaken. 

He walked through the snow so that he now stood 
near the very edge of the window. 

Must he also doubt his sense of hearing, or did 
he not hear the cry of a little child within? 

No, he was not deaf. He heard the voice of their 
little baby as it restlessly cried. He heard, too, the 
unmistakable voice of Mildred. 

But what he now heard, froze and riveted him to 
his very tracks. He felt sure that he heard the voice 
of a man from within. 

Beside himself as he was he knew he could not be 
mistaken. And yet as he stood there by the window 
with the fast falling snow covering him — with quick 
beating heart, strained nerves and throbbing temples, 
he attempted to reason in behalf of the mother of 
his children, and yet his senses, he knew had told 
him the truth. 

From being dazed and benumbed in mind and 


138 


THE TRAGEDY 


body, he became quick in perception and action. The 
blood began to course rapidly through its every 
channel. With quickened breathing, wildly beating 
heart, his whole being quivered. He now reached 
into his pocket and clutched the pistol he had secured 
before he left Range, and with a stealth that was 
unnecessary, he hastily returned to the rear of his 
house. He tried the window of the kitchen. It was 
securely fastened. 

Running to the barn in the rear of the premises, 
he procured a long chisel and returned to the win- 
dow. With this he soon pried the window open. In 
a moment he was upon the inside of the kitchen. 
From there he passed through the dining room and 
on into the hall leading to the door of the room from 
which he had seen the light and where he knew the 
voices came from. 

With pistol in one hand, he knocked upon the 
door with the other. 

There was no response. He knocked again and 
repeatedly. He pounded viciously and loudly. 

At this time he heard the voice of Mildred 

“Who is there?” she asked. 

“It is Paul,” he answered, “open the door.” 

“Why, I thought that you went to St. Louis,” she 
stated rather than asked in a trembling voice. 

“I did start but my train was wrecked. Let me in, 
Mildred. I tell you to let me in.” His voice was 
now choking him with the fury of the anger he felt. 

He no longer demanded admittance, but threw his 


THE TRAGEDY 


139 


full weight with all of his strength against the door. 
It yielded and flew open with a crash. 

There was a dim light burning upon a table in the 
center of the room. By its light he could see the 
form of a man approaching as if toward the door, 
where he stood. 

Paul rapidly fired three shots at the approaching 
figure. At the second shot his victim fell with a 
groan to the floor. Twice more did he attempt to 
discharge the weapon as he stood over him. The 
pistol failed to fire each time. 

Without even turning in the direction of Mildred 
who had fallen upon the floor with hysterical scream, 
he held the lamp in his hand, which he had turned 
up, and looked down into the face of the groaning 
and dying Willard Gordon. 

He stood for but a moment and after replacing 
the lamp walked to the front door and out into the 
stormy night. 

Just as he was walking out of the room, Mrs. 
Andrews, who had been aroused by the shots, came 
down the front stairway. 

“Oh, Paul, tell me, my boy, what has happened? 
What have you done?” she pitifully asked him as she 
saw the pistol in his hand. He never answered her, 
but pointed into the room he was leaving, with the 
weapon. 

After he had left the room, the mother went into 
the bedroom. By this time Mildred had sufficiently 
recovered after having fainted away to rise to her 


140 


THE TRAGEDY 


feet. As she did so she was in the act of going to 
the wounded man as her mother entered. She bent 
over him and taking his head in her hands she 
entreated rather than asked: 

‘‘O Willard, tell me, please tell me that you will 
not die. Speak to me. Oh, do speak to me and tell 
me that you will live.” 

Willard Gordon was only partially attired. He 
had on his shoes and trousers, and his coat and vest 
were upon a chair near by. Mrs. Andrews was quick 
in observing this. 

There was no occasion for any explanation. 

There lay the dying man and over him she had 
seen her dear Mildred with dressing robe encasing 
her. The story was too plainly told. The pale and 
ashen face of the aged woman bespoke the misery 
of her broken heart. For the moment she stood 
gazing upon the scene as Mildred rent the air with 
scream after scream. 

Suddenly, she sprang to the chair upon which was 
hanging the coat and vest. Grabbing them in her 
hands, she rushed to the side of suffering Willard 
Gordon. With almost the strength of a man, she 
succeeded in pulling them on to the limp form of the 
dying man. As she did so, her hand came in contact 
with blood flowing from the wound just under the 
heart. She knew nothing now, but the great love 
years had given her toward the unhappy Mildred 
beside her. In her way, she was vainly thinking and 
attempting to shield her from all the public shame 
she knew must come. Futile as was the effort, the 


THE TRAGEDY 


141 


mightiness of her love gave and asserted its unerring 
attestation. 

Taking the little child from the bed, where it lay 
crying, she for the first time spoke to Mildred. 

“Come Mildred we must leave this room. Come 
I say Mildred, come.” Her voice was almost a com- 
mand. 

Mildred was following her and they had just 
stepped into the hall, with Mildred giving vent to 
almost incoherent expressions and alternating with 
the violence of her screams sounding throughout the 
house, when the front door was opened and men 
came running into the hall. They had heard the 
screams of Mildred and had hastily run across the 
street and into the house. 

“What has happened, Mrs. Andrews?” asked one 
of the nearby neighbors. 

Mildred attempted to speak but her mother spoke 
in advance. 

“There has been a terrible tragedy here. Willard 
Gordon has been killed by Paul,” she answered. As 
she had done so she succeeded in getting Mildred to 
follow as she led the way to the upstairs, little Aldine 
meeting them upon the stairway. As much as she 
could, the good woman was keeping Mildred 
from saying anything and succeeded in getting her 
into her own room upstairs. 

The crowd now rapidly began to pour into the 
house. 

Medical aid was hastily summoned, though it was 
evident that Gordon was mortally wounded. He was 


142 


THE TRAGEDY 


unconscious as he lay upon the floor and continued so 
during all the time he remained there, before being 
taken away from where he lay. 

In the meantime, his father had arrived, and after 
a suitable ambulance had been secured, he was con- 
veyed to his own home. 

After the removal of the wounded man speculation 
began as to the whereabouts of the slayer. No one 
had seen him since he left the house after the shoot- 
ing. Headed by an officer of the law, who had come 
upon the scene, a search was begun for him. After 
a thorough investigation of the rear premises and the 
barn and everywhere that he was likely to be found 
near his home, an hour afterwards, tracks half cov- 
ered by the snow were found leading into a corner 
of the large yard. There was found a figure sitting 
upon a flower pedestal that could easily have been 
taken for a snowman, because of his motionless atti- 
tude, and being covered with snow. But when the 
same was approached it was found to be that of a 
man. 

It was Paul Hanley. 

There he sat, motionless and apparently without 
life, with his right hand hanging limply by his side 
in which he clutched the pistol that he had so recently 
used. Seemingly unconscious of his surroundings 
he paid no attention to the approach of the men who 
now surrounded him. At this time the officer, touch- 
ing him upon the arm said to him: 

“Come on, Mr. Hanley, and let us go down town.” 
When he had been touched by the officer, he suddenly 


THE TRAGEDY 


143 


aroused himself from his apparent lethargy and for 
the time seemed to appreciate his position. He 
turned to the officer with whom he was acquainted 
and said: 

‘‘Oh, Dan, why should I have come back! Poor 
Mildred. And so it all had to end this way.” 

Returning to him the anger that had prompted the 
awful deed itself, he interrogated the officer. 

“And did he die?” 

Upon being informed that Gordon was not dead, 
he had attempted to pull away from the officer, 
saying: 

“Well, he will die.” 

He was prevented from going Into the house by 
the officer and friends, and was persuaded to accom- 
pany the officer away from his home. 

He was now under arrest for assault to commit 
murder and which soon was to expand Itself to the 
charge of murder. 

On the following day Willard Gordon died. His 
family mourned his death with great sincerity. For 
he was one of those generous and kind hearted men 
who not only loved his own people, but he had en- 
deared himself to a large number of friends, because 
of his manly qualities. 

The Coroner’s Jury held an inquest on the fol- 
lowing day and the jury had held Paul Hanley duly 
accountable for the death of Willard Gordon. 

True, Indeed, friends had attended the funeral 
ceremonies. But he had died In the shame that comes 
from detection, which Is after all the greater sin In 


144 


THE TRAGEDY 


the public esteem. Had he lived, doubtless, his voice 
would have been heard in defense of the unhappy 
love that had resulted in his death. But the public 
could see neither justification nor provocation for the 
unholiness of such a love. There was not even an 
extenuating or palliating circumstance heard in his 
favor. Public opinion rarely, if ever, disdains a 
kind word or thought in such case. 

He died in expiation, because of being charged 
with crossing another’s hearthstone. And yet while 
one half of the local ministry preached with sancti- 
monious pretense that “The Wages of Sin is Death,” 
they forgot Paul had been charged with the same 
offense for which he had slain Wilard Gordon. At 
the same time, with great eloquence they had failed 
to criticise him. 


CHAPTER XVL 

THE AFTERMATH. 

HE little town was thoroughly shaken and 
rocked from circumference to center. What 
a rich morsel to be rolled under gossiping 
tongues was this sad tragedy! Men would hunt for 
comfortable and warm places in the little stores, 
where they would congregate and wisely discuss every 
angle of the case. The churches were all well 
attended on Sundays, with the hope of “hearing” 
something, either from the pulpit or upon the church 
steps after dismissal. Men would go home at night 
during the long winter months, and be greeted with : 
“Well, is there anything new about the case?” 
Wherever found, native or denizen, man or woman, 
white or black, it could safely be assumed that “the 
case” was being thoroughly discussed. 

And, too, there was much discussion upon the part 
of women in a most industrious sense in every quarter. 

There was a revival of the Women’s Charity and 
Sewing Club. This organization had not held 
a regular meeting since the divorce suit of Smith vs. 
Smith with all of its scandal. Indeed, it seemed to be 
tacitly conceded and assumed by all of its members, 
that the organization had passed out of existence. 

But when a two line local signed by Tabitha Small- 
wood, the president, was inserted in one of the local 



146 


THE AFTERMATH 


papers, that there would be a called meeting for the 
following Wednesday, the seating capacity of the 
“Hall of the Rebeccas” was taxed to its utmost 
capacity. 

There came the original charter members, those in 
good, bad and indifferent standing, the old and the 
young. In fact there were no absentees, except a few 
who had died or had moved away from the town. 

The president stated that she had called the society 
together, feeling that conditions warranted a pros- 
perous winter and because she felt assured there was 
a great deal of work ahead of them. 

It was not long after this announcement, that the 
Women’s Charity and Sewing Club got fairly started 
in an individual and collective sense, upon the real 
business of the meeting. To be sure they brought 
nothing to sew upon or with. That was not expected. 
The members of this society were “trained to the 
minute” as to their duties. They did not come to 
sew, but to talk about the Hanley case. There 
was the reading of the minutes of the last “regular 
meeting,” and the announcement by the president 
that they “stand adopted as read.” There was also 
a report from the indispensable “Executive Commit- 
tee” that likewise was monotoned to the unlistening 
audience and which as is usual, was adopted without 
being scarcely heard. Some vacancies upon various 
committees were filled by the president. Some other 
routine business was transacted, much to the disgust 
of the large attendance, who seemed to regard the 
delay as intolerable. 


THE AFTERMATH 


147 


There was a noticeable listlessness, however, and 
but little attention to anything transpiring, and the 
affairs of the W. C. and S. C. were not receiving the 
attention one would imagine. And yet, the very at- 
mosphere seemed surcharged with great anxiety and 
interest. 

When Sarah Haskins arose and with what seemed 
studied detail, pictured the wretchedness and misery 
that poverty had brought to the widow Ralston, not 
forgetting to detail her own great sacrifices to which 
she had been put, in assisting her, single handed and 
alone, and finally concluded her remarks with a mo- 
tion that coal be furnished her to the extent of two 
dollars and fifty cents, there was a perceptible scowl 
upon most of the faces of the members, because of 
the time being consumed. But when the irrepressible 
Mrs. Goldine arose and pointed out that there were 
only two months more of winter and “opined” that 
the widow could get along with $2.00 worth of coal 
there were groans, — not because of the economy 
being practiced, but because of the unnecessary con- 
sumption of time. After some comment, however, 
there was a compromise, resulting in the widow get- 
ting coal to the extent of one ton which cost the sum 
of $2.25. The vexatious incident being closed, there 
were many sighs of relief. 

Mindful of the importance of the moment, as well 
as her position, the president now declared : 

“The club will be at ease for fifteen minutes.” 

The coveted time had now arrived. The breaking 
of that awful and oppressive silence, by the unbridling 


148 


THE AFTERMATH 


of well exercised and industrious tongues, was now 
to be an accomplished fact. As if unleashed wolveri- 
ness coming up with their fallen prey helpless and 
exhausted before them, they now began the lashing 
of the unraimented soul of poor Mildred. 

They had come, many of them, for that purpose. 
They had come to be In at the finish. And whatever 
may have been said as to the failure of Paul Hanley 
to have readily killed Willard Gordon, they were 
become pacemakers as to the time they required in 
order to make their dagger thrusts into the soul of 
the desolate woman. And now, with practically an 
even start, they at last began — to talk. You could 
scarcely term it a chorus of voices, — and too, there 
was not exactly a Babel of tongues. They all under- 
stood each other fairly well. There were some whis- 
pers and there were sneers. There were some hisses 
and a few tears. They were all horror stricken ! 
And too, they were shocked ! Some few, with great 
civic concern, spoke with dignity as to the very great 
stain and blot upon the community — and, then too, 
they were sorry indeed, because of the stigma upon 
the dear little children. Oh, so sorry ! 

They repreached with much fervor, the sermon 
“The Wages of Sin Is Death,’’ that had been heard at 
many of the churches some few days before. They 
improved upon it to some extent, however, and In- 
cluded the woman In death’s toll. There was censure 
without stint for Immorality and the lack of virtue In 
womanhood — bitter excoriation for the dead man 
and no sympathy for the woman. 


THE AFTERMATH 


149 


When the commanding voice of their president, 
Tabitha Smallwood was heard giving her views upon 
the situation, by common consent, silence reigned. 
She had been engaged In conversation with other 
members who were exchanging their sentiments and 
had been sitting down. She raised her voice as she 
talked. When she saw the respectful audience being 
given her, she arose and continued to talk, as she 
turned to the members. Among other things she 
said: 

“But just to think of it ! This pair paraded them- 
selves in disguises, so successfully, that we actually 
permitted them to be received into our very best 
society. And when I think how that dear old Presby- 
terian church has been profaned by letting them sing 
in the choir, it really grieves me beyond expression ! 
How that wretched woman and debased creature 
could ever have had the nerve to have imposed her- 
self upon decent people is more than I can under- 
stand. For my part, if I had been Paul Hanley, I 
do not see how I could have let her escape. I cer- 
tainly sympathize with Paul and I trust that he will 
be liberated. And that old woman ! Did you ever 
hear of such a thing? Why, they say she actually put 
the man’s coat and vest on him in order to make it 
appear all right for her daughter, right after he was 
shot and before any one came. That would make her 
as bad as her daughter. Isn’t It awful?” 

There was actual handclapping In approval of 
Tabitha’s utterances. 

The affair had now taken on the form of a general 


150 


THE AFTERMATH 


discussion and there were kindred expressions from 
various members. 

But there was never a word of kindness or sym- 
pathy for Mildred. 

Yet when it seemed that sentiment was wholly 
created and crystalized against her, there came the 
unexpected and undreamed of. Pandemonium almost 
reigned, when the aged and much loved wife of Dr. 
Larkin, who had been always the family physician 
of the Hanleys, arose to her feet. She had been a 
listener to all that had been said but had taken no 
part in the remarkable discussion. There were tears 
in her eyes as she arose and slowly turned to face her 
audience. 

“Well,” she said with trembling voice both from 
age and emotion, “I have been sitting here, listening 
to all that you have had to say and I hoped that I 
could at least hear one kind word for the suffering 
girl up the street yonder, that we all used to love so 
dearly. But I hoped and listened in vain. Now 
bless all of your hearts, I do not want to hurt the 
feelings of any one of you, but it does seem to me 
that this is a strange charity organization and a 
stranger charity that we are now practicing and 
preaching. As I listened, I knew that one thing was 
true ; that there were very many of us who have for- 
gotten the picture of the blessed Saviour, who with 
one hand upon the head of erring Magdalen as He 
forgave her, and the other staying the mob that 
would stone her — and who there said : ‘Let him who 
hath not sinned cast the first stone.’ Why not let 


THE AFTERMATH 


151 


us drop the stones we would throw and pray for the 
girl in all of her misery, and ask that the same dear 
Saviour may forgive her with the same charity we 
ought to extend to her?’’ 

As the noble hearted woman sat down the tears 
were streaming down her face. Quiet came over the 
room. No greater could have been the consterna- 
tion. The silence became painful. No one saw fit to 
attempt to make an answer or make any response to 
what she said. There was nothing to be said. Tears 
and some shame could be seen now, upon the faces of 
many who had been so bitter. The restraining power 
had been gentle, but it had been very effective. Good 
old Mrs. Larkin had called off the pursuers from 
their victim. 

Mrs. Parthena Powell, who was the parliamentary 
whip of the society, came to the rescue and relieved 
the embarrassing situation. 

“I move that we now adjourn,” she said as she 
addressed the president. 

Without one dissenting voice the motion prevailed. 
There was no other avenue of escape open. And so 
the W. C. and S. C. was then adjourned, amid great 
confusion, after having given one ton of coal to 
widow Ralston and after being prevented from 
throwing many tons of stones at Mildred. 

The glorious handiwork of the Deity, in woman’s 
creation has ever been the acknowledgement of all 
time. The tributes of time to her, have been without 
cessation. Centuries have attested her goodness and 
virtues and yet the truth has never been half told. A 


152 


THE AFTERMATH 


companion for the loneliness of man, — with graces 
and charms that ever endear and endure; with hearts 
that can beat true, and hands that have long learned 
the gentleness of all charity; commanding influences 
that blaze and pave the way for the purest of all 
Christianity; she, whose heart pulsates with the ten- 
drils of a love that has molded manhood into the 
greatest of attainments; she, whose maternity sends 
thrills into the goodness of the posterity of all time, 
— what pedestal is there so great or so high — and 
what esteem sufflciently exalted in man’s mind, that 
can ever give just meed or measure of praise to 
woman? 

And yet the anomaly of her very being Is found in 
her tyranny and unkindness toward her own sex. 
Whatever her capabilities, the commentary of time 
has been and is that she will ever stone a sister who 
appeals to her as the fallen Magdalen. Ready to 
ever overlook the transgressions of man, yet her 
exactions of her sister become the extended cruelties 
that make it so hard for the fallen woman to bear 
bravely her own cross of shame. 

Long after midnight of the day of the meeting 
held by the W. C. and S. C., a certain man was seen to 
stealthily emerge from the side door of the residence 
of Tabitha Smallwood. Her husband happened to 
be out of town on that occasion. She was letting her 
friend out of her house, after a whispered “good 
night,” whom she had been entertaining. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

CLOSED BLINDS. 

HE blinds of the Hanley home had been 
pulled and kept down since the night of the 
tragedy. To a person, passing by, there were 
no signs of occupancy of the large house, except the 
smoke to be seen coming from the chimneys. The 
grocery man and other tradesmen made their usual 
trips to the rear door, it is true, but aside from Dr. 
Larkin there had been few callers. To most of them 
the servant had made the excuse of the illness of 
Mildred. But there had been a few loyal friends 
who had not failed to come with loving hearts and 
words of comfort for her, among them Dr. Larkin’s 
wife. 

The pitiableness of her position had, day after 
day, become more distressing to her. She had suf- 
fered and for many days endured a most serious 
illness. Indeed, such a change had come over her, 
that she had become haggard and unduly nervous. 
Doctor Larkin had been called there at the very be- 
ginning and he had closely watched her progress, 
fearing, seriously, for her mentally. With sleepless 
nights through which she had gone, and the intense 
mental strain through which she was passing, her 
condition at times was most serious in the extreme. 




154 


CLOSED BLINDS 


She was not permitted to be alone for any length 
of time whatever. Her every move was vigilantly 
observed by the competent nurse procured by the 
doctor. 

Throughout most of the time her mother was at 
her side. The remarkable courage manifested by this 
more than mother resulted favorably upon Mildred. 
From the moment of the firing of the first shot by 
Paul, she never indicated the slightest symptom of 
yielding to the great strain upon her both in mind 
and body. When there was occasion for alarm as 
to her daughter’s condition, there was present all the 
wonderful strength that her character of mind could 
command. She had kept both of the children always 
near their mother, knowing the effect of their pres- 
ence. 

Mildred had pillowed her head upon her mother’s 
breast through much of the time that had elapsed. 
There, she sobbed out her misery and awful anguish. 
Few words were spoken by either of them as to the 
events that had taken place. None were necessary. 
The very souls of both of them were darkened pic- 
tures of all that had taken place. 

Once only when Mildred had seemed to, and had 
become frantic as to the torture she was suffering, 
had Mrs. Andrews made reference to the killing. It 
was while Mildred with her arms around her mother, 
was berating herself. 

“Why, oh God, why can I not die? Why should 
I suffer more?” she moaned. 

“Oh, my dear daughter,” as her mother gently 


CLOSED BLINDS 


155 


caressed her, “you must now summon all your cour- 
age to forget and ask your kind God to forgive. 
Look into the faces of little Aldine and the dear baby 
for whom you should live.” 

Many times did the mother come to the rescue 
with her unbounded love and give comfort. The 
influence of such a love proved to be essential to the 
assuaging of Mildred’s grief. 

Desolate and unhappy Mildred! Miserable and 
heart-broken woman ! 

What awfulness of horrible suffering could have 
been greater than hers I 

How terrible had been her awakening I 

Friends all had gone! Torture! Suffering! 
Agony ! 

Now, as she looked back over but a few years, she 
could recall her young womanhood, when the world 
smiled at her. When she was good ! When she was 
pure ! 

How she had loved Paul! How he seemed to 
love her ! 

She saw herself as the happy wife and loving 
mother. She saw their three years of happy wedded 
life coming back to her as if yesterday. Her heart 
ached, even now as she first learned of Paul’s way- 
wardness. How the estrangement came and grew! 

She could hear the explosion of the pistol ! 

She no longer could see justification. She had 
sinned against the world and her God, she had 
thought she had loved. 

It was during the days of continued gloom and 


156 


CLOSED BLINDS 


despair that overwhelmed her and while she was 
suffering with her sorrow that the pastor of the Pres- 
byterian church called to see her. 

The aged minister, Dr. Eldred, had for more than 
a quarter of a century, been loved by his congrega- 
tion. And his kindly goodness of heart more than 
justified their affection. He was one of that kind of 
men, whose sacrifices and devotion to their life work, 
call for and receive the admiration and esteem of 
all who come in contact with them. His head, heart 
and hand joined in the preaching and practice of all 
his sermons. 

He had known Mildred from her early childhood. 
He had seen her grow into the bloom of beautiful 
womanhood. He had always loved the girl as if his 
own. And she had grown in his kindly esteem. She 
was always willingly active in his church and chari- 
table work whenever he needed her. 

When news came to him of the killing of Willard 
Gordon and its cause, the good man had yielded to 
a genuineness of intense grief for Mildred. Neither, 
really desired to see the other, but he was following 
what he conceived to be his duty, though a sad one. 

When she learned that he was coming up the stairs, 
her face prepared itself with its every blush of shame 
to meet him. And when he came into her room, her 
eyes shrank from meeting his. Of all, she dreaded 
meeting this good man most. For a moment she 
hesitated. But when she heard that kindly old voice 
again, she threw aside all effort at resistance to her 
feelings and ran to him. 


CLOSED BLINDS 


157 


“Mildred, my dear girl, your old pastor and friend 
has come to see you,” he said as he approached her. 
There was no criticism in either voice or words. Upon 
the contrary, there was sympathy, — there was friend- 
ship ; there was encouragement and cheer. 

The beautiful woman fell upon her knees, and as 
she took hold of the good man’s hands, lay bare her 
bleeding heart with tears. In this posture, she re- 
mained for some moments. He stood over her, and 
as the tears came to his eyes, he placed one hand upon 
the head of the kneeling woman. 

How great are the accomplishments of a little kind- 
ness ! Just a tear only of genuine friendship, perhaps ! 
Behold how it can wash away weakness of despair! 
Can give courage and cheer, when most needed. Its 
attainments though bloodless, are real triumphs of 
humanity. His gentleness had touched her heart. 

“Oh, good Dr. Eldred, how can I bear It! How 
can I look into your face and want to live ! How 
unworthy I am to ever come near you. You, who 
have always ben good to me ! Dear, dear old friend, 
you and mother are all I have left. I need you now 
more than ever,” she said between her sobs. 

Gently the old minister raised her from her posi- 
tion and with his arm around her, led her to a chair. 

“Mildred,” he said, “I have come to tell you I am 
still your friend. I have come to tell you, even In 
your darkest hour, you must not lose courage. I want 
you to come back to the One I know you used to love. 
I want to tell, you. He sent me to you, to say that He 
is waiting for you, now. You must remember his en- 


158 


CLOSED BLINDS 


treaties. He bids you to cast aside the memory of 
your error, and come to Him! He is your best 
friend and will not forsake you. His arms are open 
to receive you, Mildred, and you must come back.” 

His voice and heart were speaking at the same 
time. She knew that there was sincerity in what he 
had said. And as she looked up into his eyes, she 
felt for the first time some strength given her. 

‘‘But I can never face the world! I cannot stand 
my shame. How can I ever greet those who have 
believed in me and have been kind to me?” Her 
voice and her questions showed she was receiving 
encouragement at his hands. 

“You must face the world. Your penitence and 
contrition of heart will bring forgiveness that will 
make you brave. There will be sunshine for you, 
where gloom and sorrow now prevail. Live for 
Him. Live to love Him again. Only ask Him with 
your heart and He will forgive.” 

The words of the pastor were simple but reached 
her heart. 

He remained for some little time talking to Mil- 
dred. He made no direct allusion to the homicide, 
but talked kindly in advice which he gave her. 

When he finally told her good-bye she again held 
on to his hand. She pleaded with him to come again 
and he promised. 

When Dr. Eldred heard the front door close be- 
hind him as he went out, a sad smile came over his 
face. 

He knew that Mildred would be won back to Him. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

IN THE TOILS OF THE LAW. 

AUL HANLEY’S friends were numerous in- 
deed. He not only had friends who were 
loyal to him because they really felt kindly 
toward him but there were many who had great affec- 
tion for him. When he found himself beset by all 
of the troubles and sorrows which were calculated 
to call forth his greatest courage, he now found these 
friends coming to his rescue. They came to him not 
only for the purpose of consolation, but to cheer him, 
and to encourage him with advice and financial as- 
sistance which many proffered him. There was no 
gain-saying the strong entrenchment of friendship 
that he found himself behind. 

When his firm first learned of his trouble they were 
quick to tender not only their friendship but their 
assistance. They had even gone to the extent of em- 
ploying an ex-governor of a neighboring state for the 
purpose of defending him, a lawyer noted for his 
eminent successes at the bar. The selected attorney 
who became the chief counsel of Paul’s case had ad- 
vised the employment of the very ablest lawyers in 
the county of Paul’s residence for the purpose of 
assisting him. This had been done. In fact, there 
remained but a few lawyers in the county who were 



160 


IN THE TOILS OF THE LAW 


not engaged in some manner in his defence. Among 
others was the very able and eloquent Judge Marion 
Young, the real nestor of the local bar. 

In the following weeks, the attorneys and friends 
of Paul had busily engaged themselves in a prepara- 
tion for his defense. Fortified as he was and being 
supplied with all necessary finances, there was noth- 
ing left undone. And as the time of the convening 
of the May term of the Circuit Court approached, it 
was apparent that the defense would be ready for 
trial and that no continuance nor delay would be 
asked for. Numerous witnesses, principally physi- 
cians, had been supoenaed in behalf of the defendant. 
Many of them were somewhat eminent in their pro- 
fession. A few noted alienists had not only been 
consulted but had been secured from the cities of St. 
Louis and Chicago. The profession of the witnesses 
made it apparent as to what the defense would be. 

That it would be claimed that at the time of the 
killing Paul was temporarily insane was the generally 
accepted theory of the defense. 

Upon the other hand the state of I through 

the State’s Attorney had secured an indictment for 
murder, and although the Circuit Judge had admitted 
the defendant to bail and he was accordingly given 
his liberty, after furnishing bail in the sum of 
$50,000.00, there was a determined preparation 
being made for the purpose of prosecuting him for 
the crime for which he was indicted. While the 
father of Willard Gordon had employed assistance 
for the State’s Attorney in securing the services of a 


IN THE TOILS OF THE LAW 


161 


young lawyer, there was„ no other effort put forth 
than to secure and present all evidence obtainable as 
to the details of the homicide. 

Long before the sheriff had made his usual proc- 
lamation at the east window of the second story 
of the court house, at the county seat of the 
county, every available seat in the large court room 
had been eagerly taken possession of by the many 
who were interested in the now celebrated Hanley 
case, that was to be called that day. 

It was the first Monday in May, the time fixed by 
law for a regular term of the Circuit Court of that 
county. 

As was usual in those days, the court houses in 
small county seats, were situated in the center of 
what was known as the “Court House Square.’’ 
Around the large yard was the typical iron fence and 
on the outside of the fence came the stone pavement 
and at its edge was the continuous string of hitching 
racks that extended entirely around the yard itself. 
These were constructed for the farmer who would 
come to town for the purposes of attending court or 
on other business. Upon occasions of great import- 
ance or somewhat unusual, and particularly upon 
Saturdays, every foot of space was taken upon all 
sides of the “square” by the nickering horses and 
teams hitched to various vehicles. Here, throughout 
the entire day, it was by no means an unusual thing 
for the teams to remain, without being fed or wat- 
ered, while their owners, in many instances, were 
quenching their thirsts in some nearby saloon. And 


162 


IN THE TOILS OF THE LAW 


not infrequently it happened that kindly officers were 
compelled to hunt for and find the Owners of suffer- 
ing animals that remained standing the whole day 
regardless of the weather. 

The court house was constructed with the evident 
intention of providing for the farmers, And in those 
days, the system in vogue of the country “Squires” 
composing Boards of Supervisors for the county who 
had the entire fiscal affairs of the county under their 
control, the court houses were constructed under the 
actual direction of the citizen from the country. He 
wanted his court house constructed for his con- 
venience. He wanted the court room large enough 
to accommodate any large gathering of the Grange, 
the Populists or any other political organizations — 
for rallies and the gathering of the clans of any order 
or organization. They believed in commodiousness 
rather than comfort. For that or other reasons, the 
court room at M. had a seating capacity of something 
near 1,000. Doubtless the farmer reasoned that 
in as much as he was in a great majority as to votes 
cast, juries required, and as to business transacted, it 
was his prerogative to so construct his home of jus- 
tice as he saw fit. For it was then true, that most of 
the litigation in the small county seats came from the 
agricultural elements. 

The usual and average gathering on court days 
found nothing in particular to interest the stranger. 
To be sure there were litigants with their witnesses, 
who with girded loins and well buckled armor occu- 


IN THE TOILS OF THE LAW 


163 


pied many seats in the court room, ready to give 
battle to an equally armed opposition. Many of the 
lawsuits arose over controversies as to hogs and 
cattle — division fences and property Hines, and now 
and then a slander suit. At that time, litigation was 
considered more in the nature of a luxury than a 
necessity. With trifling disputes over property of 
slight value, and with bad blood engendered, liti- 
gants from the country, with their rival bands of 
witnesses, would cause their disputes to grow to such 
an extent that their witnesses had become young 
armies before the final termination by juries of feuds 
started. Malice, just as is still the case, with con- 
tentious dispositions, served more to furnish and in- 
crease the patronage of the country lawyer than any 
other influence. 

Indeed, the author recalls very vividly a certain 
law-suit that was originally tried before the “Squire” 
involving an old sow of about ten dollars in value, 
where the plaintiff won. An appeal was promptly 
taken to the County Court by the defendant and from 
there the case was appealed by the plaintiff to the 
Circuit Court. There were several witnesses at the 
beginning. They had grown in number until the entire 
neighborhood of the residence of the sow eventually 
became the witnesses upon one side or the other as 
to her identity. The witnesses came in droves — and 
they swore too, “jest as straight as the crow flies.” 
Finally, after some three years had elapsed, a jury 
decided in behalf of the plaintiff, and awarded him 


164 


IN THE TOILS OF THE LAW 


the sow. But she had long since become disgusted 
with the delays of the law and because of not knowing 
to whom she belonged, and had died more than a 
year before the last trial. The costs amounted to 
over $ 800 . 00 , and the lawyers’ fees had run up into 
more than a thousand dollars. 

But there were other spectators there than liti- 
gants. There were the grand and petit jurors. 
Then, too, there was the typical loafer that you will 
find in a good seat by the stove in the winter and by 
the window in the summer. There was to be found 
also quite a number of the professional jurors, who 
are hoping that lightning might strike them in the 
event that bystanders should be summoned after the 
regular panel is exhausted. This element is always 
on hand. He knows how to answer questions upon 
his “voir dire” so that he can qualify as a juror in 
any conceivable case. He never formed or expressed 
an opinion upon any case or event, however, import- 
ant, and according to his answers would make an 
ideal juror. Often he was some employed henchman 
who was there, because some lawyer expected to 
make up a jury from the bystanders in order that 
the lawyer could be sure that justice would be done, 
A large portion of the audience was made up, of 
course, of the morbidly inclined, who hover around 
the court whenever trials afford anything along lines 
of the salacious or sensational. In fact, there were 
some women (twenty-five or thirty) who had gained 
and were determinedly occupying some of the front 


IN THE TOILS OF THE LAW 


165 


seats, many of whom had come from C. the scene of 
the tragedy. They had come early, and had brought 
their lunches with them, in order not to lose their 
coveted places of advantage. 

Every preparation had been made by the court 
attaches for the convening of court. There was 
more than usual activity and bustle manifested. The 
clerk of the court swelled with great importance. 
The sheriff and his deputies were particularly active. 
The sheriff was suave and engaging in his manners 
and fearing some of his country constituents might 
accept some of the many invitations to bring their 
families with them and come to his home, if ‘‘you are 
ever taken on the jury.” He had extended such an 
invitation while a candidate in the campaign before 
his election, and one good farmer had brought his 
entire family with him and had literally camped at 
his house at a former term of court when he was a 
juror for three weeks. Anxious to perform his duty 
as an officer he was likewise on the lookout so as to 
avoid a repetition of past hospitality. But when the 
court ordered him to make the usual proclamation 
convening court, he did so with much pretence of 
voice and manner, informing the public that the 
Honorable J. Court was now convened pursuant to 
adjournment.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE TRIAL. 

S the court now took his seat upon the bench, 
the lawyers began to rapidly assemble within 
the bar provided for them. And as the tal- 
ented array of counsel for the defendant took seats at 
the table assigned to them, it was evident that Paul 
Hanley had prepared to fight desperately for his life 
and liberty. As he walked Into the court room and 
within the railing, he was beside the leading counsel 
for him. Gov. C. P. Jones from a neighboring state. 
It was apparent that he was undergoing a great men- 
tal strain. His face was pale and he wore a pr- 
nouncedly haggard look. There were dark rings 
under his eyes as if he had not slept the night before. 
Of necessity, he was nervous and ill at ease. And it 
could easily be seen that a change had come over him. 
As he would sit conversing with his lawyers, he was 
serious 'minded In appearance. The smile was all 
gone and there was no doubt as to his having per- 
ceptibly aged. 

State’s Attorney McElroy and his employed as- 
sistant, Thomas Fountleroy, had just entered the bar 
and had taken their seats as the court rapped for 
order. There had been subdued conversation 
throughout the court room but now Instant quiet pre- 




THE TRIAL 


167 


vailed and an air of greatest expectancy was appar- 
ent. The court, disposing of a few motions in civil 
cases, took up the matter of charging the grand jury 
and the empanelling of the regular petit jury. Upon 
this being done, the court for a short time looked 
over his docket and then suddenly called : 

“The People of the State of I vs. Paul Han- 

ley. Mr. State’s Attorney, what do you say for the 
People?” 

“We are ready for trial,” announced the State’s 
Attorney. 

Judge Marion Young immediately arose and re- 
plied for the defense by saying: 

‘The defendant is also ready, if it pleases the 
court.” 

Then began the tedious labor of selecting the jury. 
The entire day was consumed, the regular panel 
being exhausted. Only two of the panel qualified 
and they had been challenged peremptorily by the 
defendant. At the conclusion of the day, a special 
venire was ordered by the court for 100 talesmen, 
and on the following morning there was much 
material to be worked upon. 

It was evident that the prosecution was endeavor- 
ing to secure as many young men as possible who 
were married, and it was equally plain that the 
defense was desirous of getting as old married men 
as they could upon the jury. Juror after juror was 
interrogated, a very large number disqualifying them- 
selves by reason of having formed and expressed 


168 


THE TRIAL 


opinions as to the guilt or innocence of the accused. 
When a juror qualified that was not entirely accept- 
able to one side or the other, there would invariably 
follow an examination in an attempt, always, to 
secure his removal for legal cause. The great num- 
ber of jurors examined, by reason of formed opinions, 
clearly showed that the case had been very generally 
talked about througohut the county. 

Finally, at about the close of the second day, the 
jury was secured, after a great deal of caution being 
exercised by both the prosecution and the defense. 
The jury was taken from various walks of life. Some 
were past middle age (five or six), the remainder 
being young men. There was one merchant, three 
miners, one clerk, and the rest were farmers. It was 
an average jury from the standpoint of Intelligence 
and satisfaction with them was expressed by each 
faction. 

State’s Attorney McElroy was an experienced 
prosecutor and was known for his splendid abilities 
as well as his Incorruptible integrity as an official. He 
was a very popular official, not only with members of 
the bar but with the people generally. He had fear- 
lessly performed his duties and was serving his second 
term. In so far as preparation could be made, he had 
given the case at bar his most earnest attention and 
the counsel for the accused had good reason to fear 
him. 

So when he arose to make the opening statement to 
the jury his every word was closely listened to. 


THE TRIAL 


169 


He began by first reading the common law indict- 
ment for murder. His manner of reading, as well as 
his statement to the jury, was a most solemn and im- 
pressive performance. When he read the indictment 
with all of its awfulness of technicality and among 
other things, “That the defendant, Paul Hanley, then 
and there being instigated by the Devil, did wilfully 
and feloniously, and of his malice aforethought, make 
an assault upon Williard Gordon, a human being in 
the peace of the people, and did also then and there, 
with a certain pistol then and there had and held in 
his right hand, which said pistol was then and there 
loaded with certain leaden bullets and gunpowder, 
fire and discharge one of the said leaden bullets into 
the left side of the said Willard Gordon, then and 
there producing a mortal wound upon the left side of 
the said Willard Gordon, from which said wound he, 
the said Willard Gordon, did then and there languish 
and languishing did die,” very close attention was 
paid by the defendant, and he slightly bowed his 
head as the prosecutor continued to read. — ^After 
much legal verbiage, consisting of many “thens and 
theres” and some “wherefores” the indictment finally 
concluded by saying all that it would seem necessary 
to be said; — “and so the grand jurors on their oaths 
aforesaid, do say and charge that the said Paul Hanley 
did then and there kill and murder the said Willard 
Gordon, contrary to the peace and dignity of the State 

of I .” To the layman, the uniqueness of the 

law’s technicalities must be a great problem as to the 
necessity of the same when a given thing can be said 


170 


THE TRIAL 


in one line in ordinary language and be as intelligently 
expressed as where the law’s parlance would require 
more than a page. But the technicality of the law is 
the robe of the judge and the coat and vest of the 
lawyer, and neither time nor reason have ever seen fit 
to deprive them of the apparel they have so long 
worn. 

Now, as the prosecutor finished reading the indict- 
ment, in clear and concisive tone and sentences, he 
told of the lives of the defendant and Mildred; how 
he was away from his home most of the time; that 
he knew of the attentions of the deceased to his wife. 
He told over the objections of the defendant’s coun- 
sel, that he had become a most notorious libertine and 
how — he had a mistress in every hamlet of his terri- 
tory. To this, the court sustained objection, saying 
that if true it would not be admissible as evidence. 
When he turned, however, and pointing his finger at 
the defendant saying, “and Gentlemen of the Jury, 
I will prove to you that Paul Hanley knew that the 
deceased would be at his home on that night and that 
he had been so informed before he left C. He went 
to Range and then made up his mind to return to 
his home and deliberately kill and murder Willard 
Gordon,” Paul turned away from the prosecutor’s 
gaze. Objections were made by Governor Jones, 
but McElroy more than held his own and evidently 
made an impression upon the jury as he concluded. 

Upon the conclusion of the opening statement the 
introduction of evidence immediately began. 

The first witness called was Coronor Taylor, whose 


THE TRIAL 


171 


evidence concerned the character of the wounds re- 
ceived by the dead man. Either of them was necessa- 
rily fatal, and there was no doubt in the mind of the 
witness, who was a physician, as to the cause of the 
death. There were two gunshot wounds inflicted, 
one at the upper part of the stomach and the other 
immediately underneath the heart. When asked by 
the defendant’s counsel as to the clothing of the 
deceased, he produced the same which was signifi- 
cantly and with great concern, shown to the jury. 

There were no bullet holes to be found in either 
the coat or the vest. 

There were blood stains strongly in evidence upon 
the inside of the vest, but not of a bullet having gone 
through the coat and vest. 

It was evident that the defense would attempt to 
make much of this fact. Upon interrogation the 
witness gave it as his opinion that the clothing had 
been put on the dead man after he was shot. 

The State’s Attorney sought to have the witness 
say that the shots could have been fired while the vest 
was opened and unbuttoned, but while admitting the 
possibility of such a thing, thought it unlikely that 
such could have been the case. 

When George Gordon, the father of the deceased 
man was next called, every eye in the court room was 
turned to the sad-faced man who unsteadily took the 
witness stand. Grief had left its impress of sor- 
row upon the old man and as he related, with trem- 
bling voice how he had been called to the home of 
the defendant and had found his son unconscious and 


172 


THE TRIAL 


dying upon the floor, tears slowly came to his eyes. 
Only once during his narrative did he look in the 
direction of Paul, who slowly turned his face away. 
That was when he answered that Willard had died 
the next day without coming to consciousness. 

The witness was asked to identify the clothing of 
his son by the defense, which he did, with bowed 
head. He could not recall whether the vest was but- 
toned at the time he first saw his son, but he was posi- 
tive that it was on him when he was taken from the 
scene of the shooting. He subsequently saw that 
there were no holes in either coat or vest when the 
deceased was taken home. 

When the State’s Attorney said: “Mr. Sheriff, 
call Mrs. Andrews,” there was instant attention upon 
the part of every one and an air of expectancy on all 
sides. 

With consideration for her feelings, the State’s 
Attorney had allowed her to remain in the private 
office of the sheriff until called as a witness. It was 
quite evident as she appeared coming out of the sher- 
iff’s door, that unusual interest would be created as to 
the testimony it was expected she would give. As a 
matter of fact, Mildred was the only eye-witness as 
to the actual killing. But in view of the fact that she 
was not a competent witness to testify under the law, 
either for or against the defendant, she was not only 
not present but her version of the homicide could not 
be taken. Mrs. Andrews, while not actually having 
seen any part of the tragedy, was yet a witness to that 
which transpired immediately afterwards. 


THE TRIAL 


173 


As she slowly walked to the witness stand after 
being sworn and took her seat, it was plain to be seen 
by all who knew her that she had suffered intensely. 
Though a woman of more than sixty years of age, 
time had dealt kindly with her up to the fatal night of 
the tragedy. But now there were deep lines indicat- 
ing furrowed care as shown by the drawn counte- 
nance. Indeed, she appeared to be rather feeble. 
Upon taking her seat her eyes wandered until she was 
looking into the face of the defendant. 

As she faced about and told what she knew about 
the tragedy, there was no venomous spirit shown but 
rather did she reluctantly and sadly relate all that she 
had seen and heard. It was when she narrated how 
she had taken Mildred to the upstairs of the home, 
that tears began to crowd themselves into her eyes. 
For a brief period she silently wept, but recovering 
herself, she continued her testimony. Deftly the 
State’s Attorney had led her into detailing the home 
life of the defendant. She was permitted to relate 
how happily they had lived together until a certain 
incident arose at which time there began to be a 
change in both of them. She related how Mildred’s 
heart chilled toward Paul when she had learned of 
his faithlessness to her. She told how when time 
after time he had been accused by Mildred, though 
first denying it, had admitted his guilt, and how Mil- 
dred had forgiven him upon his promises for the 
future, but how afterwards, he was again and again 
confronted with his broken promises as to Myra Kiler 
and how in the end she had ceased to love him. Once 


174 


THE TRIAL 


during her testimony, with an outburst of tears, she 
drove terror into the heart of the accused by saying 
before she could be interrupted: 

“And if Paul could have only been true to Mil- 
dred, he would never have lost her love and he would 
never be here, to-day,** 

The statement was stricken out by the Court as 
being improper, but It was a hard blow to the accused, 
for It was clearly to be seen that the jury had been 
affected by it. 

The cross-examination was with much deference 
and consideration for her feelings. Indeed, aside 
from having her state as to how Mildred was attired 
at the time she had gone into the presence of the 
dying man, and that she was wearing a robe she was 
accustomed to wear, there was but one other subject 
about which she was Interrogated. 

“Now, Mrs. Andrews, will you state how Willard 
Gordon was attired when you reached where he 
was?” she was asked by Governor Jones. 

“He had all of his clothes on,” she answered with 
some feeling. 

“Did you notice as to whether his vest was but- 
toned at the time you first reached where he was?” 
she was then asked. 

“I do not know, and did not notice.” Her reply 
came In a manner showing her annoyance. 

“But my dear madam, Is it not true that his coat 
and vest were not upon him when you entered, and 
that you yourself put. them upon Willard Gordon?” 
she was asked. 


THE TRIAL 


175 


Governor Jones advanced toward her at the time 
of propounding the question. He had scarcely fin- 
ished the Inquiry when the witness gave way to tears 
and hysterical sobbing. Her answer was not coher- 
ent or a pertinent one, for she merely sobbed out: 

“You are trying to besmirch my poor girl. You 
are heaping shame upon her to free Paul. It is not 
fair to her and I will not answer.” 

Shrewdly, the question was withdrawn by Gov- 
ernor Jones and she was permitted to stand aside. As 
she stepped down and continued to yield to her feel- 
ings, the effect upon the jury and spectators was 
noticeable. There were but few dry eyes to be seen. 

She was defending her child and had made the sac- 
rifice that love will call for. The enormity of her 
offense had not in any sense deterred her. And 
though there were few who believed her, all were 
willing to excuse and defend the love that could dare, 
though she had done wrong — had violated the law 
of man and God. 

But was she the first one whoever had used a love 
to defend? 

No sooner had Mrs. Andrews left the witness 
stand than there came the announcement the prosecu- 
tion would close Its case. The prosecutor felt 
that the psychological moment had arrived and 
though there was other unimportant evidence avail- 
able, he preferred to close. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE DEFENDANT TESTIFIES. 

PON a hasty consultation being held by the 
defense, the accused was at once called to 
the stand. 

There was the usual craning of necks of specta- 
tors who had come for the purpose of merely hear- 
ing the sensational details that led up to the killing. 
That the defendant would be required to tell every 
fact and circumstance about which others knew noth- 
ing, was well known and now the front seat of 
curious and morbidly inclined women and others 
similarly attracted, awaited the defendant’s testi- 
mony. 

The defendant answered with composure, as he 
began his evidence. He answered the questions 
of his counsel simply and directly. When he gave 
an answer he immediately stopped. There was no 
voluntary statement made by him. Though clearly 
to be seen that there was nervousness that he felt, 
yet he made an impression upon the jury that 
throughout he was merely speaking the truth. There 
was no bravado, but upon the contrary, he merely 
gave evidence with the frankness that the truth re- 
quired. 



THE DEFENDANT TESTIFIES 


177 


He began with the happiness of his married life. 
He told the jury of his great love for Mildred. He 
detailed how great had been his own and as he 
thought her own happiness and love for him. That 
he had built the costly home in which they lived from 
the plans substantially furnished by her. Step by 
step he told of their married life and of how great 
was their joy and happiness when little Aldine, their 
little girl came. As he would speak of his wife, he 
would always call her ‘‘Mildred” and once when 
speaking of their wedded life, tears came. They 
were genuine, too. Everybody could so see and un- 
derstand. He told how on the night before the 
tragedy, he had come quite a distance out of his way 
in order to be with his little family before going on 
to St. Louis — of how Mildred had accompanied him 
to the station the next day — as to how proud he was 
of her — how they went to the postoffice together, 
where he had received considerable mail. 

“I saw her standing on the platform as my train 
had pulled out and I saw her put her handkerchief 
to her eyes as if crying. I did not know why, but I 
thought it was because I was going away from her 
for only a few days. As God is my witness it never 
occurred to me to doubt Mildred before. Never did 
the slightest suspicion come to me of her. My last 
words to her were that I would be sure to return by 
Saturday and I meant it. I remember, sitting on the 
inside of the coach. I opened some of my mail and 
began reading it. I had a letter from my house that 
gave me much pleasure, informing me of a raise of 


178 


THE DEFENDANT TESTIFIES 


my salary. When I opened the letter you now hand 
me and read it, I was at first inclined to laugh at its 
absurdity and to treat it as a joke. But somehow, 
I could not get it out of mind. I grew restless, and 
by the time the train reached Rangel had made up 
my mind to get off. It was snowing very hard when 
I left the train. I remember in a dazed sort of way 
of my starting back to C. I walked down the rail- 
road track all the way. I did not see anyone but a 
tramp who tried to hold me up. I made him walk 
back with me. More than I can tell you, I felt 
ashamed of myself for doubting Mildred and once 
or twice I had almost determined to return to Range 
for that reason. But I kept going and finally about 
12 o’clock I reached the edge of C. I turned away 
from the streets and walked in a round about and 
circuitous route toward my home. I did so because 
I did not want anyone to see me, it is true. I reached 
there about 1 o’clock. I went to the rear and en- 
tered through the rear gate and went to the porch, 
where I stood protecting myself from the falling 
snow. I had seen no light from Mildred’s window 
and had convinced myself that I was guilty of the 
greatest affront and insult possible, that I had 
allowed myself to have doubted her because of an 
anonymous letter. I determined that I would go 
boldly to the front door and ring the bell and go to 
her and upon my knees would tell her my wrongs to 
her and ask for her forgiveness for all the unhap- 
piness that I may have caused her. I started around 
the house upon the east side and had gone as far 


THE DEFENDANT TESTIFIES 


179 


as to the east window of the down stairs bed room 
when I thought I noticed light streaming from be- 
tween the curtain on the Inside and the casing. I 
thought, however, that I must be mistaken, but when 
to my amazement, as I went close to the window, I 
learned that there was no mistake. I stood quietly 
at the window to see by listening. If there were any 
persons In the room. I was sure that I heard Mil- 
dred’s voice. I began to wonder as to why she was 
occupying the room, as I knew she had always used 
the upstairs, when I should be away. I thought 
nothing seriously of the fact, however, until as I was 
standing there, I heard the voice of a man from 
within the room. I listened again and again and I 
knew that I could not be mistaken. After that I do 
not know how long I remained standing there. I do 
not remember very much as to what took place after 
that. I was not myself. I tried to convince myself 
that there was nothing wrong In what I had seen and 
heard. I tried to reason everything In behalf of 
Mildred and that nothing could be against her, but 
as I listened and heard a man’s voice talking and 
her’s In reply, my mind became confused — I became 
crazed — I scarcely knew myself. I stood there de- 
bating what I should do for sometime. I finally 
went to the rear of the house and after getting a 
chisel pried open the window and got Into the kitchen. 
I went on through Into the dining room and Into 
the hall leading to this room. I remember when I 
reached the door It was locked. I knocked at the 
door. There was no answer. I must have pounded 


180 


THE DEFENDANT TESTIFIES 


heavily after that. It was then I heard the voice of 
Mildred. I demanded that she let me in. She 
wanted me to go upstairs and sleep, and was very 
much surprised that I had returned. I again in- 
sisted that she let me in, and when she would not I 
threw my weight against the door and burst it in. 

I knew that I had a pistol with me. I have an 
indistinct recollection of having it in my hand when 
I went into the room. I remember seeing the form 
of a man as I entered. He seemed to approach me. 
He had no coat or vest on at the time. I saw Mil- 
dred standing near the bed. As I saw the man I 
raised the pistol and do not remember anything else, 
except that I saw Gordon fall. I immediately left 
the room and went out of the front door, hearing 
Mildred scream as I went. I do not know where I 
went and I do not remember anything until I was 
arrested while I was sitting upon the flower pedestal 
in the front of the yard.” 

In cross examination there were no changes in his 
testimony. It was perfectly clear to every one that 
the literal truth was being told by the witness. Again 
and again he stated that he had never had any inti- 
mation from any source reflecting upon his wife. 
He had casually known the deceased but had never 
known of any attentions by him to his wife. 

“If I understand you, your relations with your 
wife were of the very best and most agreeable?” He 
was suddenly asked by the prosecutor. 

“Yes,” he answered, hesitatingly. 

“As a matter of fact is it not true that for many 


THE DEFENDANT TESTIFIES 


181 


months before, your wife had become estranged 
from you on account of your intimacy with another 
woman?” 

Immediately there followed a torrent of objections 
upon the part of the defense. The earnestness of 
argument upon the objection showed the importance 
of the question in the minds of counsel. The court 
after listening to the contentions made, sustained the 
objection of the defense. 

But at this juncture, Paul Hanley sitting upon the 
witness chair, suddenly surprised his counsel by say- 
Ing : 

“Notwithstanding the objections of my counsel, I 
do not want to hide the truth. I feel that I must 
speak. I will not let my wife be placed in a false 
attitude, by myself. It is true that I had been guilty 
of all the things the prosecutor intimates by his 
question; and it is equally true that I had confessed 
the same to Mildred. I had not been what I should 
have been and had promised time after time to her 
that I would change my life. I did not blame her for 
changing her heart toward me. I was making an 
honest effort as I had promised. For God knows 
that I loved her. I do not claim to have been free 
from blame and I admit that my wife had frequently 
accused me justly of my own indiscretions. I have 
nothing to hide and will face all the consequences of 
my wrong.” 

The voluntary statement of the accused, to a very 
great extent, disarmed the prosecutor by reason of its 
manliness, for he could easily see that the jury had 


182 


THE DEFENDANT TESTIFIES 


been much impressed by the apparent candor of the 
accused. 

Though consternation was at first created within 
the ranks of the opposing side, It began to be seen 
that the cause of their client had not been seriously 
injured, if indeed, it had not been aided by the sud- 
den outburst. 

In a short time thereafter, the cross-examination 
of the accused was brought to a close. 

The defense now introduced numerous celebrated 
alienists as witnesses, to all of whom was put the 
hypothetical question based upon the testimony of the 
accused, as to whether in their judgment the defend- 
ant was of sound mind at the time of the shooting. 
They each without exception readily answered that 
he must have been of unsound mind at the time but in 
their judgment he had fully recovered. They based 
their judgment upon the suddenness with which he 
had learned of the faithlessness of the wife and of his 
being confronted in the manner that he was with the 
circumstances surrounding the killing. There was no 
change brought about as to the conclusions of the 
great number who had testified, if anything their 
testimony being made stronger by cross-examination. 

There was no rebuttal testimony and the case was 
now ready to be argued. 


CHAPTER XXL 

THE TWO ARGUMENTS 



HE opening argument for the prosecution was 
made by Mr. Fountleroy, who had been em- 
ployed to assist the State’s Attorney. 

Though not the experienced advocate as others 
employed in the case, his address was one of force 
and ability. He spoke with great earnestness and he 
was listened to with great attention. 

He urged the jury to consider the value of human 
life as given by the Deity. He pointed out that the 
laws of both man and God inveighed against its de- 
privation, and for that purpose, there had been 
created barriers and restrictions thrown around its 
preservation to such an extent that with only a 
few exceptions, only He who had given it and the law 
of man had a right to take it away. Jealous, indeed, 
was the great Commonwealth of every life within its 
borders. The law was created for the protection 
rather than the destruction of it. Whatever might 
be the faults of the lowliest and humblest citizen, he 
had a right to its protection. 

The enforcement of the law must be by means 
created for that purpose. The chaotic condition 
which would result to society, if the proper tribunals 
were not appealed to, would bring about most malig- 


184 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


nant anarchy and confusion. Its justice was open and 
accessible to all, but its administration must flow from 
authority of direction. 

“Surely,” exclaimed the speaker, “no man has the 
right to take the law into his own hands and become 
judge, jury and executioner as the defendant in this 
case has done. The defendant has assumed the high- 
est province of the law in his effort at punishment of 
Willard Gordon for the offense he deemed to have 
been committed against himself. He was not invok- 
ing the aid of any element of the right of self-defense, 
but was become the avenger of a wrong that he 
claimed was against himself and not the State. His 
wielding of the sword of justice was without the spirit 
of mercy, but was with all the elements of revenge 
and malice which had made him an impossible con- 
servator of the laws of his State.” 

The speaker continued with much force to point 
out the elements of murder as he viewed the case and 
contending that the killing was the result of deliber- 
ation upon the part of the defendant, as was shown 
from his own testimony, finally concluding with an 
appeal that the dignity and imperial majesty of the 
law should be sustained and that the defendant should 
be punished as the law demanded. 

There are public speakers whose individuality and 
appearance personally, enable them to really possess 
the power of magnetism. The trained orator, with 
all of his loquaciousness and assumed dramatic abili- 
ties, can never hope to cope with the mind whose 
native talents connect him directly with his hearers. 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


185 


Few audiences, including juries, are deceived by 
rhetorical or declamatory outbursts. The successful 
advocate, especially in criminal trials, who would 
become an effective pleader, must be one who can 
eliminate the fee received and who can take the jury 
into such confidence that he can win their hearts first 
and their minds afterward. 

Such a man was the aged and more than gifted 
Judge Marion Young, who had been employed by the 
defendant. More than 60 years of age, with only 
whitened edges of hair around his exceedingly bald 
head to be seen, with a face of greatest gentility and 
kindness and with a commanding figure and appear- 
ance, he at once became the object of greatest atten- 
tion as he arose to make the closing address for the 
accused. 

His portrayal of the lives of Paul and Mildred, 
from their courtship into their wedded life, his 
description of the happiness that was theirs and how 
it had been added to by the coming of little Aldine 
was artfully made. He told how Paul had proudly 
gone forth into the world with the knowledge of the 
pure love that he knew was his and how he had 
striven to build for the future in his own way for the 
happiness of his household. 

Frankly, he admitted the mistakes of youth Paul 
had made. That when his errors of life had been 
mentioned, how he resolved upon the reform that he 
knew was due to the one who was the mother and 
wife — that he had reformed as he had promised — 
that his love for her had not lessened but had grown 


186 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


— how time after time, when a great distance from 
his home, he would take long trips in order to be with 
her only a short while, so great was his love, and how 
he had thought he was fully forgiven by her, as he 
had determined upon a pure and upright life. 

Among other things, he said : 

“Far be it from me to defend even the susceptibil- 
ity of youth whatever may have been the temptations 
that may have been thrown in his way. Upon the 
contrary, I have no word but that it be of censure for 
Paul Hanley, as he strayed into the ways of indiscre- 
tion. I am conceding the greatest of reprehensibility 
for him and I am not permitting myself to be led into 
discussion with the prosecutor as to what were his 
rights as compared to those of the unhappy wife, who 
is suffering so keenly at this very moment. There is 
never the right to do wrong. I resent the implied 
assertion that because unhappiness may come to 
either man or woman, even when driven to the very 
verge of desperation, that there is either excuse or 
justification to fall or sin. Let no ear be so attuned 
that it can ever wish to successfully hear from my lips 
that the world can ever rightfully give greater license 
or latitude to the man than to his helpmate. There 
is but one privilege and province for action upon the 
part of each of them. There is a great law of love 
that demands duty to each other and their God. 

And as I stand here before you, pleading for this 
young father, I shall not ask you to consider him 
other than an heir to the usual foibles, faults and fan- 
cies that come and go with young manhood.” 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


187 


The speaker recounted all events before and at the 
time of the killing. 

“When his heart brought him home on the 
Wednesday night before the Christmas day, it was 
because it thrilled with his love for her. Whatever 
may have been his mistakes, his anxiety to be rein- 
stated in her favor made him the lover as of old. 
Coming to her and leaving her with the sincerity of 
trust and confidence that impels a husband to believe 
in his wife, he was on his way with eagerness for the 
return before that most beautiful of all days. He 
left her with never a suspicion or having a doubt 
enter his mind as to her nobility of character. And 
on that night when he lay by the side of the one whom 
God had so graciously given him, he had sunk into 
the untroubled slumber of an unquestioned faith in 
the mother of his children. And on the next day as 
he sprang upon the moving car, as the train pulled out 
from the station, it was with an undethroned love 
that he waved his fond farewell to the woman he left 
crying upon the platform of the depot. 

“Severe, indeed, if justice is ever done, must be the 
punishment accorded the author of that mysterious 
letter. I leave for you the censure of the unhappy 
soul who could wish to be the cause of misery we have 
all been forced to see.” 

“But behold the change. Mark the transforma- 
tion from trust and love to the awfulness of doubt! 
See the change from the mild to the mad man I Be- 
hold the frenzy, the fury and the accomplishments of 
fiendish jealousy! Do you not recall how as he 


188 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


walked down the railway track that night, how one 
moment it was all love and confidence for Mildred, 
and the next all the intensity of suspicion? Do you 
not recall how he had bravely attempted to defend 
her against the poisoned letter? What, indeed, must 
have been the tortures of the miserable man as he 
plod through the deep snow, on and on until he 
reached the rear of his home about one o’clock that 
night ! 

“He stands looking up to the bedroom window of 
his wife. He sees no light. All is very dark. His 
breast heaves with a great sigh of relief, when he is 
now convinced that it was all a mistake for him to 
have come back. Doubt and dread suspicion are 
driven away. Relieved of his sufferings, you find him 
walking toward the front door, with lightened heart. 

“But you must stop with him as he sees the light 
streaming through the window of the downstairs bed- 
room. Now, from restored confidence you must turn 
again to torture of mind. You must stand with him 
at the window. There, in the cold and with the falling 
snow you must listen as he did, and hear the voices of 
the loved ones — the child and the mother — the wife. 
You strain your ears and you listen again! You 
hear the voice of a man in conversation with the 
wife. And after you have stood there, convinced as 
to all that you hear, you must know that his blood 
surged rapidly through his veins ; how his heart beat 
fast and his mind went mad, when he knew that 
another was in the bed chamber of his children's 
mother. 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


189 


“Then you can learn how reason can run riot and 
how the brain bulges into maddened awfulness of real 
insanity. 

“Do you not see, that with the fury of the tiger 
turned loose he springs through the window of the 
kitchen nad rushes to the door of the fatal room? 
Do you not hear the husky and choked voice of the 
maddened husband as he calls to the one within that 
he really loves? Do you not hear the terrific blows 
as he pounds upon the door demanding admittance? 
Do you not hear the voice within, pleading her sur- 
prise and for delay as to opening the door? Watch 
as the athletic man throws his weight against the door 
and as to how it yields ! This was not a man ! It was 
man become a fiend. But when the door flew open, 
gentlemen ! Oh the horror of it. The unspeakable 
terror of mind and heart that came in one dread 
moment! How can you forget it? 

“There stands a half-dressed man; a short distance 
away is the wife and mother, 

“If any human mind can withstand such assaults 
upon it and survive, it is stronger than God-given. 

“If Paul Hanley were not crazed, surely every 
vestige of reason left him then and there, 

“Mad and infuriated and with his brain on fire, he 
shot that he might kill. You cannot hlame him. He 
had a right to kill. This I hold true whether he was 
sane or not. What would you have done? In what 
condition would your mind have been? I will grant 
you, that there was the act and fury of the maddened 
avenger. Outraged manhood had succumbed and 


190 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


there could be no expectation that reason could longer 
rule. He had seen the very fire of the grate of his 
home flicker and fade forever away. He had seen 
love die. He had seen the curtains drawn for all 
time against the light and sunshine of any happiness 
for him. 

^^YeSf poor Paul Hanley was justly insane. 

“My zealous friend, the prosecutor, has told you 
that Paul Hanley should not have taken the law into 
his own hands; and to use his own expression, he 
‘should not have become judge, jury and executioner.’ 
He has reminded you that there is and was no law 
that could have justified the killing; and he defies me 
to make answer. 

“My young friend, perhaps, is of the opinion that 
Paul should have awaited the coming of the Decem- 
ber day and have applied for a warrant before the 
Justice for disturbing the peace, and he has urged 
with great declamation that the dignity and majesty 
of the law should have been sustained. 

“This great imperial commonwealth of I has 

stretched forth its innumerable arms in every direc- 
tion, seeking to protect its citizenship — the high and 
the low — the rich and the poor, all alike. And what- 
ever the enactment of its laws, the fireside of thehome 
is the great fulcrum of power and the foundation of 
its every provision. With us, the great justice of our 
laws, enables whoever is wtihin the mansion or castle, 
the hut or the hovel, whatever may be the station in 
life, to become the lord and master of the home, and 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


191 


the right of protection against Invasion of the In- 
truder, Is pre-eminent.” 

“When the thief steals under the cover of darkness 
of night Into the home, and with catlike tread and 
stealth, finds his way to the cupboard, however unpre- 
tentious, and reaches his hand to the shelf, and takes 
therefrom a small piece of earthenware, the owner 
has a right to shoot the invader down, as he would 
steal his property. 

“But when some Interloper, while the master and 
husband may be absent, with persuasive tongue and 
manner. Ingratiates himself Into the favor and heart 
of the loved one who Is left at home, and who watches 
and awaits the departure of the husband — and then 
under cover of darkness, just as does the burglar, 
undertakes to cross the hearthstone and drive away 
the sunshine of happiness that ought to be his, and 
seeks to purloin the love of wife and mother, we are 
then told by the prosecutor that we are not to take 
the law Into our own hands. 

“Since when did the small cup and saucer, under 
the laws of this State become more valuable than the 
happiness of the fir e s tide 

Eloquently and effectively did the able lawyer con- 
tinue his plea to the jury with argument and sentiment 
that seemed to find lodgment in the minds of both 
jury and spectators. 

The defendant sat with his head bowed throughout 
the address. Once or twice it could be seen that he 
was shedding tears, when the speaker had spoken of 
the love of Mildred being taken away from him. 


192 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


Indeed, upon this occasion, as well as many others, 
there were few eyes without tears. 

When Judge Young had concluded his address to 
the jury, and Robert McElroy arose to make the con- 
cluding argument for the State there was a tenseness 
of interest indicated by everyone that hushed the 
audience into almost breathless silence. There was 
no discounting the remarkable effect of the great ora- 
tor’s effort upon the jury. The most enthusiastic 
admirers of the State’s Attorney felt doubtful of his 
ability to successfully counter the argument made. 
And yet, with his known prowess as a prosecutor 
urged on by the friendship he had felt for Mildred, 
whom he had known so well as she grew into woman- 
hood, those who were nearest to him confidently 
expected a strong excoriation of the defendant as 
well as all possible defense of the tortured woman. 
And they were not disappointed. 

With his splendid abilities experience had given 
him, he arose, grandly meeting the great genius of his 
adversary. From the very inception of his reply, he 
was listened to with marked interest. He spoke 
deliberately and earnestly throughout, and his words 
fell with conviction upon his hearers. Time and 
again did he deliver most merciless blows that made 
the defendant and his counsel wince with their telling 
effect. 

He detailed step after step of the accused and por- 
trayed with burning sarcasm his conduct as that of 
deliberation that belonged to one contemplating the 
death of another. He charged him with efforts of 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


193 


secrecy attending his every act, with executing care- 
fully laid plans as did every other criminal. Instead 
of righteous indignation he had employed the stealth 
of criminality in mind and had sought to excuse his 
act by feigning absence of responsibility. 

At one time during his speech he suddenly cried out 
with most dramatic skill and intense fervor : 

‘‘Ah, it is attempted to interpose the makeshift 
defense here, that this defendant was insane at the 
time of the unhappy taking away of the life of Wil- 
lard Gordon. Do not allow yourselves, gentlemen of 
the jury, to be deceived by a pretense so utterly found- 
less in fact and under the law. His attorneys do not 
believe in the hollow mockery of such a defense. 
They feel and know that even you will not seriously 
counetnance such a disguised evasion of the law. 
They are trusting that you will accept what is tacitly 
held out to you as an excuse for the taking of human 
life and that you may read through the lines that they 
are relying upon this mysterious and mythical defense 
that is so often adopted by guilt, known as the unwrit- 
ten law. They are asking that you may so far forget 
your oaths that you may liberate the defendant 
because of the sentiment with which they seek to 
chrystalize the defense made to the effect that a man 
has the right to protect his own fireside.” 

“But they dare not openly advocate to you in the 
presence of the Court that such is their contention, 
for they would promptly be told that there is no such 
subterfuge available to them in this case. So I am 
asking and demanding in their presence, that they 


194 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


speak out and in your hearing tell me if that is their 
reliance. You will observe that as I pause for reply, 
I am greeted with the silence of cowardice that 
betokens the fear to seek the open. And if I ask with 
equal candor, if they rely wholly upon the claim of 
ingeniously manufactured insanity, you are con- 
fronted with the same failure to reply.” 

‘Tf you will only analyze the truthfulness of the 
claims of the accused, you will find that Paul Hanley 
is made by his counsel, the avenger instead of the 
defender,^^ Once, he said: 

“I know that it has ever been the liberality of the 
world that a man is allowed the undue liberties of the 
libertine, with full consciousness that there shall be 
condonation for his wrongs as he returns to the one 
of his choice at home. I know, too, that as man 
expands his own liberties and licentious privileges, 
authorized by the teachings of the world, that he 
correspondingly exacts more of his own household 
and erects impressively high standards of virtue for 
the guidance of the wife he should love. 

“It is, too, that same hypocritical cant of the world 
that educates criminals that they may go out upon the 
highways of life and become the despoilers of virtue, 
desert the pure affection of the wife at home who is 
left in all the desolation of despair, and if, forsooth, 
she should turn in the loneliness of her misery and 
unhappiness and endeavor to cement the broken 
pieces of her heart with the sympathies of another, 
that such men under the pretence of indignation, shall 
be entitled with loaded gun to avenge the stepping 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


195 


across his hearthstone of his happy home by another. 
Then, as the smoke of the pistol clears away, the 
slayer is permitted to come into the court room hiding 
behind the cloak of insanity and asking for his free- 
dom at the hands of a sentimental jury.” 

At another time, with eloquence, he cried out : 

“I am not apologizing for the dead man, whose life 
was taken by this defendant. I am not seeking to 
justify the erring wife, who has stabbed her own 
heart while in the throes of desperation, and who 
must look out upon the gloomy expanse of her 
unhappy future, but if I must descend to the low level 
of the defense in this case, to combat even the claims 
of the disguised defense of the unwritten law, since 
when did justice ever so hide her face with blushes 
of shame, that this defendant should be heard to 
claim the right of taking the life of another to whom 
his own wife had been driven with the broken heart 
through the infamy and desertion he confesses in 
your presence ! I protest with all the fervor of the 
friendship I had and yet have for the sorrowing girl, 
whom I knew so well, against the destruction of the 
picture I have in my mind. How well do I remember, 
and the accused has told you the same, of the beau- 
tiful young wife, the sweet-faced mother, one of the 
purest and best of women, serenely happy with the 
great love she was giving to this defendant ! Picture, 
If you can, the loyalty of the heart she had so grace- 
fully surrendered to him in all its entirety, the confi- 
dence she so willingly imposed In him as time after 
time her lips met his and as she would fall into his 


196 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


arms with embraces of love, as he would come and 
go to and from her ! Think, if you can, of a really 
happy wife and mother, being deserted with a scorn 
for her love, with perfidy and infidelity as his stepping 
stones of the life he sought when away from her ! 
Conceive, if you can, of the countless tears that fell 
when this girl wife was suddenly confronted with his 
later love for another ! Let your manhood make you 
kneel in worship of the princess of love as she for- 
gave his confessed betrayal of her ! I entreat you 
and I call upon you, Paul Hanley, to go back to the 
time when with promises of reformation, there was 
given the sweet hand and heart of a forgiving love, 
and when you rushed to the arms so soon afterward, 
of another. And oh, the promises that were broken ! 
When poor Mildred Hanley awoke to the realization 
of his renewed desertion of her, then there was en- 
acted the first tragedy in the lives of husband and 
wife. 

“Then, Paul Hanley, you committed your first 
great crime! For you had deliberately killed and 
murdered the love and devotion of as pure a love as 
was ever God-made and you stabbed to the death her 
heart with the falsehood and treachery of another 
love I Her heart fell at your feet broken into many 
pieces and every glorious and beautiful dream of hap- 
piness perished in the mire of her misery I 

“This was the kind of woman that the invisible 
world would ever command to forgive. This 
was the crime against womanhood, that the world 
has ever sanctioned. This was the happy home you 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


197 


were so insanely defending. And now, as we listen 
to the scenes of the tragedy being related, we are per- 
mitted to behold the many feminine spectators who 
occupy the front seats in this court room daily, rush 
up to the accused at every recess and shake Paul 
Hanley’s hand with dreamy-eyed fawning that has 
made of him the hero of the hour ! This, then, is the 
education which the world gives ! The decrees of 
this most munificent and accommodating Unwritten 
Law are such that this defendant, in case of acquittal, 
would be received and worshiped as he should pass 
through the door of this court house, by the populace 
just as if he returned a conquering hero. But what 
of Mildred Hanley? There is no handshake, no 
smile, no word of cheer, no consoling thought which 
she can ever have. Shunned by her own sex, con- 
demned and crucified, she can only await the doom 
the world in all its cruelty has in store for her. 

“With most admirable tact and skill, my friend. 
Judge Young, has pictured the right of the lord of 
the manor to shoot down and kill the burglar who 
would steal the most valueless piece of earthenware 
from his cupboard. So, he would under the laws of 
the State, because it is the property of the citizen, and 
he has a right to protect it. 

“But let me remind him that the defendant had cast 
his wife from him and she had been thrown as debris 
into the backyard of life, no longer claimed by him 
and he no longer sought claim to the broken frag- 
ments of the heart mercilessly destroyed.” 


198 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


With biting satire the prosecutor continued to 
arraign the accused, and among other things, he said: 

“Let us reverse the situation. If Mildred Hanley 
had perchance, deserted her husband and his children, 
had yielded herself to a most notorious life of shame 
and plunged herself deeper and deeper into the pros- 
titution of her virtue and honor as a wife and the 
deserted husband had begun to heal his own great 
sorrow with the friendship or love of another, and in 
some dark and gloomy hour she should hunt up and 
kill the one to whom he had gone, do you suppose 
without money that her attorney could procure any 
of these noted alienists to testify that she was insane 
at the time of the killing? No, they would coldly 
proclaim it to have been the revengeful and murder- 
ous act of a woman who had no claim upon her hus- 
band and the jury would send her to the scaffold or 
the prisoner’s cell.” 

The conclusion of the State’s Attorney was brief. 
He merely said: 

“Take this case, gentlemen, and do justice under 
the law the court will give you, not some fancied 
uncertainty of dangerous doctrine hinted at by coun- 
sel that consists in crushing a woman In all her help- 
lessness in order that her husband may escape. If 
you have sympathy to bestow, I pray you to give it to 
the absent and unhappy woman, who must suffer in 
order that the defense can be made for her husband 
that you have heard.” 

The defense had felt keenly the able speech of the 
prosecutor, and many times did the accused turn his 


THE TWO ARGUMENTS 


199 


face away from the officer as he was being held up to 
ridicule and scorn because of his contentions. His 
counsel, too, had been impressed with the danger that 
might follow his reply. 

Soon afterward there came the very lengthy 
instructions to the jury by the Court, after which the 
jury retired to their room for deliberation. 

Speculation as to how long the jury would remain 
out before a verdict should be reached, was very 
generally indulged in. There were many who 
thought they would return a verdict in less than an 
hour, so confidently was it expected that an early 
verdict would be reached. Yet, as time passed, and 
an hour had gone by, there was nothing heard from 
the jury room. When two hours had elapsed and 
nothing had been heard, many of the spectators 
began slowly to leave the court room; but so great 
was the interest in the trial, that a very large number, 
including members of the bar, patiently remained, 
anxiously awaiting the verdict. 

Governor Jones and Judge Young remained seated 
at their table, engaged in conversation with the 
defendant. Though' apparently interested in what 
they were conversing about, it was very evident that 
they were experiencing no little nervousness as to the 
delay of the jury in making a report. The defendant, 
now and then paced the floor within the bar, and as 
time went slowly by, very often looked in the direc- 
tion of the jury room. 

After being out for more than five hours a hung 
jury began to be predicted. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW. 



I HE accused had been ably defended. Every 
phase of both sentiment and law had been ap- 
pealed to that could possibly impress the jury. 
There was obvious zeal upon the part of the great 
number of expert witnesses that could not fail in 
effect, as one by one, each unhesitatingly gave opin- 
ions as to their belief in the insanity of the defendant 
at the time of the killing. 

The only issue presented by the instructions of the 
Court was, in fact, whether the accused was sane or 
insane, both at the time of the homicide and since. 
The Court had very plainly told the jury that the kill- 
ing was not justified under the law, and that a verdict 
of guilty should be returned unless they should believe 
in the contended insanity of the accused at the time of 
taking the life of the deceased. In any event, the 
jury were told that they must make a finding upon this 
question, and particularly were they instructed to find 
by their verdict whether the accused had recovered 
his sanity since the killing. In order to give him 
liberation, they were told in unmistakable terms, that 
they must believe that he had entirely recovered his 



VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 201 


Yet, while this was in truth the only issue presented 
by the Court, it was by no means the reliance of coun- 
sel for the defendant. 

With skill and eloquence of the master, there had 
been made a most ingenious plea by Judge Young 
that went into the hearts of the jury, regardless of the 
cold letter of the law as defined by the Court. Time 
after time did it seem that he would speak the very 
words of the real defense — but he had not done so 
for the reason that he knew that he would have been 
chided by the Court because of the impropriety of 
such an argument. But he had gone far enough 
always with his adroitness, so that the jury and by- 
standers even, could understand that he was appeal- 
ing to that influence, so generally known as “The 
Unwritten Law,” that subtle defense with its plastic 
pliability, which defies the real law of the land. 
Though, by no means, a creature of the law, nor being 
at all, of recent invention. It Is that which is known 
by Courts and lawyers as the invisible shield for 
crimes denounced by the written law. While 
admittedly, not an offspring of legislative Intend- 
ment, nor of precedent sanctioned or established by 
law or Courts, It has become the tacitly accepted and 
adopted defense in homicide cases, to so great an 
extent, that Courts are sometimes surprised when it 
fails to be Invoked. 

Bold In nomenclature and bolder In the application 
given it, the most modern jurisprudence of this coun- 
try has almost been compelled to recognize it. It is 
to be seriously doubted if there is any defense known 


202 VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 


to the law, that some times is so prolific and produc- 
tive of justice, and at the same time so fraught with 
danger in the administration of it, by reason of the 
great susceptibility to abuse, as is the ‘‘Unwritten 
Law.” Its abuse, in fact, will ever make impossible 
it being written into the law books of the country as 
a permanent institution of defense capable of applica- 
tion in criminal trials, generally. Always regarded as 
a fiction and species of subterfuge as now most gen- 
erally employed, it has been permitted by Courts and 
the public to become an instrumentality, some times 
employed leigtimately, but more often fraudulently, 
than any other known defense. 

Though without doubt, having for its origin the 
protection of the home and the fireside, utilized origi- 
nally, to excuse the just and great provocation pre- 
sented, as for instance when the husband learns sud- 
denly of the infidelity of the wife and is made 
acquainted with the identity of the despoiler of the 
home, by common consent the public has often 
endorsed and sanctioned its employment as a means 
of escape from the punishment of the law. Indeed, 
where there has been the outrage of all rights of the 
husband, emanating from law or love as to his wife, 
it has found favor with the public — and doubtless, 
will always receive its sanction. 

Unlike the mob spirit that sometimes wreaks 
vengeance upon its victim and snuffs out his 
life with its relentless fury, and where the public 
assumes to become the punishing power, the ^^Un- 
written Law^^ vests this right of the executioner in 


VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 203 


the husband, only. Its theory is that the wrong com- 
mitted by the offender is only against him and not the 
public. 

If some fearless lawmaker should boldly formulate 
and ask the passage of a law to the effect that the 
seducer of the wife should suffer death at the hands 
of the husband and that his, alone, should be the 
avenging spirit, or if it should be asserted that the 
meaning and application of “The Unwritten Law” 
was tantamount to such a law, society and most emi- 
nently respectable Courts of the land would, with 
great horror, revolt at such a proposed law and shud- 
deringly disclaim any such construction or interpreta- 
tion of such a defense. The idea and the law, alike, 
would be denounced as monstrously unjust and 
hideously undesirable. 

And yet, that is the precise meaning and effect of 
this frequently used defense, in modern criminal 
trials. It is so interpreted by Courts, lawyers, juries 
and the public. If the justice of its use ever 
emanated from the teaching “That the wages of sin 
is death” — it is most remarkable, indeed, that the 
vindicatory spirit should be vested in the individual 
and not the public. 

Whatever of justice there may be in the employ- 
ment and effect of such a defense, it is largely and 
mockingly minimized, because, as a matter of fact, 
theoretically, and of law, juries are not expected to 
pass upon the efficacy of the defense or the right to 
kill. This is made most manifest, for the reason that 
in order to be available as a defense, the defendant 


204 VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 


must be proven to have been absolutely insane at the 
time of the killing. In other words, they must believe 
that the defendant must have been incapable of dis- 
cerning between right and wrong, before he may 
become the protector of his home and fireside. 

It, in fact, demands that the sacredness of the vir- 
tue of the wife and the instrumentality of punishment 
of the despoiler of his unhappiness, must be watched 
over and avenged with insanity. 

But that is not all. In order that the accused may 
avail himself of such a defense, he is required to not 
only prove his insanity at the particular moment, but 
in order to gain his liberty, he must demonstrate to 
the satisfaction of the jury that he has since recovered 
his reason. For that purpose, an army of well-paid 
and dignified doctors, calling themselves ‘‘alienists,” 
get upon the witness stand and one after another have 
presented to them the “hypothetical” question, based 
upon the facts as narrated by the defendant. After 
deliberative mental digestion of the facts contained 
in the question, they very gravely assure the jury that 
the defendant was unquestionably insane at the un- 
happy moment of the homicide. They very learnedly 
deliver dissertations upon the various phases of in- 
sanity, dexterously handling huge and technical terms 
they have been industriously studying since 
being notified as witnesses, and parading their pro- 
found knowledge in that mystifying manner that awes 
the jury and confuses the rest of mankind. Finally, 
they reach that peculiar species of aberration that 
snugly fits the defendant’s case and the jury are told 


VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 205 


that he was “temporarily and emotionally” insane 
when the fatal shot was fired. They then proclaim to 
the world by further testimony that the defendant 
has fully recovered his mind since then. They assert 
that the sudden knowledge upon the part of the 
defendant that his wife was untrue to him and the 
equal suddenness with which he sees the wrong-doer, 
is too much for his mind and that for the time being, 
it gives way to the awfulness of insanity. 

He could just as consistently answer similarly in 
any other murder case, and say that the mind of a 
man becomes suddenly overpowered when great insult 
or provocation occurs which may result in human life 
being taken. But he would not do so, because the law 
defines that to be such a state of mind that it is known 
as a human passion that merely reduces the killing to 
manslaughter, instead of murder. Such testimony 
would be so antagonistic that it would tend to over- 
throw all law governing homicide trials, that time has 
never yet changed. And yet, the average “alienist” 
would have no difficulty in reasoning that the man 
who was intensely jealous or greatly and suddenly 
angered, to the extent that he would kill another, was 
insane, but such elasticity of conscience bolstering up 
that type of insanity would scarcely be met with polite 
reception by bench or bar at this time. The world is 
not quite ready for that innovation. 

After being daily inflicted with the scientific 
research and weighty consideration by the “alienists” 
and the arguments of counsel, the jury usually, as was 
the case in this instance, is given an armful of instruc- 


206 VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 


tions, and permitted to retire to the jury room to 
deliberate upon their verdict, and make disposition 
of the celebrated case under the influence of “The 
Unwritten Law.” 

And, now, my dear reader, let us for once invade 
the sanctity of the jury room and listen that we may 
learn how verdicts are reached where human life and 
death are Involved. 

Immediately upon having retired there was a selec- 
tion of their foreman by the jury. Squire Smithers 
was recognized as the most eminently fitted, as they 
thought, for this position, and he was therefore unan- 
imously selected. He had been a Justice of the Peace 
in his township for six years, and it was thought he 
might “help out” by reason of his experience, if the 
jury got into a “pinch” as to the law. 

The instructions being thrown back of the water 
bucket where they were out of the way^ the mem- 
bers of the jury began to make themselves comfort- 
able by divesting themselves of coats and vests on 
account of the very warm May day. Pipes and 
tobacco readily appeared in evidence and for the time 
being there was no pretence of deliberation upon the 
case, and for a while they rested from their arduous 
labors. 

“Well, now fellers, ’sposin’ we take a ballot and 
see how we stand,” said the foreman, finally. 

After twelve small slips of paper were prepared 
and distributed, each juror was requested to write his 
judgment as to what the verdict should be upon the 
piece of paper and deposit the same. When they were 


VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 207 

all collected, Sam Johnson called off each ballot. The 
first ballot resulted in there being nine for acquittal 
and three for conviction. 

The ballot was somewhat of a surprise to the jury. 
Another was taken with the same result. 

“Well, ’sposin’ we jes talk over the situation a 
while afore we take another vote,” said the foreman. 

And gradually, but with some reluctance, they 
began to discuss the case. 

“Mr. Foreman,” said farmer Adams, who lived 
quite a distance in the country, “I would like ter have 
you fellers hurry this thing through, ’cause I left my 
boy on the farm and he’s the only help I got. It looks 
to me as though the defendant has lots of friends and 
I’m for turnin’ him loose. He looks like a purty good 
sort of a feller to me.” 

A German farmer here arose; and addressing the 
foreman said: 

“Mr. Foreman, I dink dot we ought to quit Mr. 
Hanley. You see dot man vot vas killed, he try to 
take his vife avay from him. He ought not to do 
dot. She vas his vooman and he not had a right to 
daket her avay.” 

“Well, but the Court said that he did not have a 
right to kill for that reason,” interrupted another 
juror. 

“O veil, I know vot dot Coat said,” replied the 
German. “But how would he like for his vife to be 
taken avay by some fellow? I tell you dot vooman 
she belong to Mr. Handley. She vas his. Dere vas 
no divorce suit tried yet, vos it? Nein. Ven mens 


208 VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 


vimmen belong to dem, no udder man has a right to 
dake dem avay. Dot is de law and ven a man tries 
dot he ought to get kilt. Didn’t you hear dot fine 
speech of Judge Young? He said it vas de law for 
Mr. Hanley to kill dot man.” 

‘‘What law was he talking about? The Court is 
the one to give us the law,” replied the interrupting 
juror. 

“O veil now, dot leetle fellow vot set up tere, he 
not know more law dan Judge Young. He told us 
about dat law vat vas not done yet. He said it vas 
not writ yet. Dot vas de law I talk about. Yes, dot 
law vot vas not writ. Dot vas de vay it vos in de 
Faderland. Yah, dot vas de law, dere.” 

“Well, Mr. Foreman,” said another juror. “You 
see it’s just like this. That fellow Gordon is dead 
and we can’t bring him back to life again. He got 
caught and that’s all there is to it. Convicting Han- 
ley won’t help things. That’s the way I look at it. 
When a man gits caught, he knows he is takin’ his life 
in his own hands. I don’t care what Hanley did. If 
they had a caught him I reckon they might a done 
the same thing to him. There’s no use a ruinin’ a 
man’s life for a dead man that did wrong no how. 
I’m for not guilty.” 

There was no little handclapping in approval of 
the remarks of this juror. 

“O well, Hanley was crazy at the time of the kill- 
ing, anyhow,” interposed a juror. 

At this remark most of the jurors, to a very great 


VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 209 


extent, laughed as if a joke were being sprung upon 
them, the author joining in. 

When Juror Connor arose he was accorded imme- 
diate attention. He was regarded as the orator of 
the jury and was very popular with all of them. 

‘T don’t look at this case loike the rest of ye. I 
don’t belave the defindant is crazy, and I don’t belave 
he iver was. You see, the defindant niver had the 
roight to mistrate his own woman and lave her and 
the little ones loike he did. He was a bad’n hisself 
and wint with other wimmen. If he’d bin what he ort 
to have bin, there niver would ha bin enny trial. But 
you say, he wint off and desarted the wife, and she 
knew it. What was she going to do about it? 
Didn’t he throw away his own right to her by his own 
maneness? If he had bin a rale good man and had 
caught the poor divil makin’ love to his wife, it would 
have bin different. He had bin doin’ the same thing 
whin away from her. He was jist jealous, that’s all. 
I think the defindant is guilty,” said Connor with 
raised voice and much earnestness. 

“But, see here, Connor,” answered another juror. 
“The fact that he might have done wrong didn’t jus- 
tify her. I think that a man is constituted differently 
from a woman. Of course, I don’t mean that he has 
a right to run around, perhaps. But you see, he has 
always done it, and the women know it when they 
marry them. It’s a sort of a privilege that men have, 
you see, as long as he don’t get caught. Of course, I 
ain’t arguing that a man ought to do these things, but 
even if he does, his wife doesn’t have to do wrong 


210 VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 


because he does. I think that when a man is caught 
he ought to take his medicine. He takes his life in 
his own hands and knows it when he misbehaves when 
away from home. This fellow got caught and he 
had to take his medicine and that’s all there is to it.” 

“Well,” asked Connor, “suppose he had bin 
caught, do you think Hanley would hev had the right 
to kill him after he found it out through some other 
manes? What’s the matter wid ye? Air ye a tryin’ 
to say that if he wasn’t caught, that he didn’t do 
wrong, or do you say that he ought simply to be kilt 
fer gittin’ caught? That won’t do, aither. This man 
did just as wrong whether he was caught or not. 
That’s all Tommy rot, my friend. Now say here. 
The defindant told us whin on the stand that he did 
wrong hisself. Now, we have caught up with him. 
Do you think that some husband ought to come and 
murther him for tellin’ on hisself? Not on your loife, 
ye don’t.” 

“But, Connor,” expostulated Squire Smtihers, 
“don’t you know that the Good Book teaches that 
“The wages of sin is death?” and this is a punishment 
for that man Gordon.” 

The Squire felt that he had delivered a knockout 
blow and felt highly pleased with himself. 

“Well,” replied Connor, “we are not thryin’ of this 
case accordin’ to how the Bible rades. But if we air, 
thin accordin’ to ye own argumint, Hanley ought to 
be taken out and kilt because he pladed guilty to 
doin’ the same thing. 

“And thin another thing. What’s all this blubber 


VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 211 


about the written law and unwritten law? Didn’t we 
swere to thry the defindant accordin’ to the law? 
What law? Why the law ov the State that’s on the 
statute books, that’s what. Who said anything about 
any unwritten law except thim lawyers, anyway? 
What in the devil is the unwritten law? Who got 
the thing up ? 

“The Judge niver said anything about sich a thing 
and Oi don’t belave in sich junk. An’ won’t ye tell 
me, what in the divil did they bring this defindant to 
the courthouse for, if they didn’t want to thry him 
accordin’ to the law that is writ, bedad?” 

Connor had worked himself into a somewhat ex- 
cited frame of mind, but he was being listened to very 
attentively by all of the jury. 

The discussion went on and on, each juror express- 
ing himself freely and with much originality. Dur- 
ing the time many games of cards were played, many 
yarns exchanged and a rather enjoyable time was had. 
Instead of a jury deliberating in a murder trial, one 
might easily have taken it for some farmers’ meeting 
disturbed by a noisy Irishman. 

Finally another ballot was taken, the result of the 
count showing that there were eleven for acquittal 
and one for conviction. 

It was well known that the contentious juror was 
Connor. 

The members of the jury began to twit him with 
the loneliness of his position and some sneering re- 
marks were made, to all of which he gave fitting 
reply. 


212 VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 

‘‘Whin ye think that ye can change me that 
way, ye air very much mistaken and Oi’m afther tell- 
in’ ye that yeUl find me here a long time afore Connor 
changes his moind,” he said, among other things. 

It so happened that there was a very quiet man 
upon the jury who had never expressed himself. He 
was a merchant that lived and conducted a small store 
near one of the mines of a large company for which 
Judge Carr, one of the counsel for the defendant, 
was the regular attorney. Now, Connor worked in 
one of the company’s mines as a sort of timber boss 
and was drawing fair compensation for the work 
which he did. The merchant knew Connor fairly 
well. And after listening to one of the bitter out- 
bursts of Connor, had gone to him and had taken him 
to one side, away from the other jurors and talked in 
a low tone of voice to Connor for some time. Though 
the other jurors never knew what was said to Connor, 
the following is what was said : 

“Now, see here, Connor, Judge Carr, one of the 
defendant’s lawyers, is the regular attorney for the 
mining company you work for. I just want to tell 
you that if he finds out that you are for conviction, 
your job is gone. The thing for you to do is to keep 
your mouth shut and vote for acquittal. Itisnothingto 
me, but I would hate to see you lose your job for your 
family’s sake. When the next ballot is taken you vote 
right and I will have everybody to agree that no one 
must ever know how the jury stood at any time.” 

In a short time afterward another ballot was taken. 
The result was not guilty. 


VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 213 


The merchant kept his word to Connor and the 
jury made the agreement as to silence so far as the 
public was concerned as to the status of the jury at 
any time. 

The foreman now knocked loudly upon the door, 
indicating that the presence of the sheriff was desired. 
When that worthy officer came to the door he was 
informed that a verdict had been arrived at. 

In a short time afterward, having informed the 
Court, the jury was ushered into the court room to 
their places in the jury box. 

Upon being asked if they had agreed upon a ver- 
dict, the foreman answered: 

“We have, your Honor.” 

When the verdict was passed to the clerk and 
before it was read, the Court took occasion to admon- 
ish the audience that he would not tolerate any 
demonstration of approval or disapproval of the 
verdict. 

The verdict was read finding the defendant not 
guilty because of the finding by the jury that the 
defendant was insane at the time of the slaying, there 
being the further verdict that he had recovered his 
reason. 

Notwithstanding the admonition of the Court that 
there should be no demonstration of the spectators 
upon the reading of the verdict, the entire audience 
seemed to immediately show its approval of the ver- 
dict by a long loud cheer that could be heard far out 
into the street, bringing many citizens to the court 
room who had heard the applause given. Any effort 


214 VERDICT OF THE UNWRITTEN LAW 

to check such a demonstration would have been futile. 
The defendant was a happy man. His lawyers 
crowded around him with their congratulations, after 
which he shook hands with each of the jurors. The 
audience appeared to all want to shake his hand and 
crowded around him for several minutes with their 
congratulations. 

With a great transition that had taken place and 
followed by friends and accompanied by his attorneys, 
Paul Hanley now left the court room, a free man. 

The great trial was over. 

The “Unwritten Law,” as interpreted by the jury, 
had won another victory. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

DIVORCED. 

B HE acquittal of Paul was by no means a sur- 
prise to any one. From the very first, there 
was confident prediction by friends and foes 
that conviction could never be had. The days that 
followed the trial, he had spent largely in receiving 
the unreserved congratulations that came to him con- 
stantly. His appearance upon the streets was always 
the signal for the gathering of crowds around him of 
loyal friends. There came to him, too, messages by 
letter, wire and newspapers commending him and en- 
dorsing the verdict. 

In truth, he found himself so profusely praised and 
fawned upon by the public, generally, that to a great 
extent, he began to appear as an unwilling subject of 
hero worship so often resulting from the fickleness of 
the public with its varying fancies. For a short while, 
with his first blush of victory and his natural and inci- 
dental buoyancy of spirits, he had to some degree, 
enjoyed the fullness of his liberty as well as the con- 
tinued and unvaried words of praise that kept pace 
with his every hour. 

Yet as the days went by, there came to him the 
more settled frame of mind. He began to appear. 


216 


DIVORCED 


without the smile he had once worn. He found him- 
self not wishing for the plaudits of the public. He 
began to have that which invariably comes to the 
mind that has passed through the mental ordeal of 
re-enacting the events of a tragedy. It may or may 
not be the truthful observation of the world, but it is 
rare, indeed, if the human mind can completely throw 
aside the ever-present recollection of the death strug- 
gles of the victim of a homicide, whether justifiable 
under the law or not. To Paul, there came much of 
the silent sorrow and many a troubled hour. He had 
at times relived the dark hours through which he 
had gone. Always did he find refuge behind the law 
and the jury verdict, and when tenaciously there clung 
to him memories he sought to drive away, he would 
most frequently find the law’s support as the last 
resort. 

Added to it all, there appeared to him the contem- 
plation of what he had intended to bring about. He 
would not let his mind reason upon the subject as to 
whether he should divorce Mildred. From every 
side came argument and influence that impelled him 
to do so. He had convinced himself that he could no 
longer have any vestige of love for her — that the 
public would greatly scorn and sneer at him, if, 
indeed, he did not do so. He had not only not seen 
or in any manner heard from her, but had always 
contrived to avoid any mention of her in any way, 
whatsoever. He was not at all unmindful of all that 
he had confessed as against himself while upon the 
witness stand and he had full appreciation as he 


DIVORCED 


217 


thought of the extent of his own errors, but when he 
thought of Mildred as the unworthy mother of his 
children, and as an adulteress, there grew always the 
enormity of her sin. He could never forgive, and 
indeed, he could neither debase himself nor his 
friends by pursuing any other course than freeing 
himself. 

There was no surprise, therefore, when the suit for 
divorce was afterward filed by his attorney. Judge 
Young. Upon the contrary, it was generally expected 
that such a course would be adopted by him. 

When the necessary process of summons was 
served upon Mildred, she was not unprepared for the 
same. She at once consulted with State’s Attorney 
McElroy, whom she employed. He had advised her 
that there could be nothing accomplished except to 
safeguard the children. There was, therefore, no 
answer filed, and a default permitted to be taken. 

The case had so far progressed that it was ready 
for submission, when Judge Young suggested that his 
client was desirous of making voluntary settlement 
upon his wife and a meeting at the office of Mr. 
McElroy was arranged for, and that it was necessary 
for the personal presence of each of them so that 
there could be the adjustment desired. At first both 
Paul and Mildred objected as to the necessity of their 
meeting, and her attorney had advised strongly 
against it, but the judgment of the old lawyer to the 
effect that the legality of the proceedings required it, 
prevailed. 

So, during the morning of a September day, Paul 


218 


DIVORCED 


accompanied his attorney to the office of Mr. 
McElroy, knowing that for the first time since that 
fateful night he would see Mildred. He felt his 
heart grow restless as they approached the entrance 
of the office and experienced no little embarrassment 
as he walked into the presence of his wife. Mildred 
was sitting upon the west side of the room as he 
entered with little Aldine standing near her. There 
was no sign of recognition upon the part of either of 
them. Paul, as if he did not know of Mildred’s pres- 
ence walked deliberately to the window on the north 
side of the room and took a seat. As he did so, 
Aldine walked over to him and he took her into his 
arms. He played with and talked to her and mani- 
fested eagerness of affection for her. But at no time 
did Mildred turn her face in the direction of where 
he was sitting. After remaining with her father for 
some time Aldine seemed to grasp the situation of 
silence between them. 

The attorneys were busily engaged in drawing up 
some necessary receipts to be signed and other inci- 
dental agreements as to the separation. The table at 
which they were sitting was in the center of the room, 
there being one upon each side of sartie. To each of 
them and, in fact, to all of the occupants of the office 
the intense quietude and silence that prevailed was 
embarrassing. As they carefully scanned the papers 
being held by them, there were but few words spoken. 
Paul was giving to his wife one-half of his estate, a 
rather liberal allowance under the circumstances. 
The agreement to be signed was to the effect that Paul 


DIVORCED 


219 


was to be given the custody of Aldine under the law, 
but he had consented that Mildred should take her 
upon any departure from the State, provided Mrs. 
Andrews should accompany the child. 

When he had been asked to give such permission, 
he had answered Judge Young, by saying: 

“Yes, Judge, if Mrs. Andrews is going with the 
child, I will be perfectly contented. I love that good 
woman as if she were my mother.” 

And Paul had really always felt a strong affection 
for her and evinced it toward her very often. She 
had returned his feeling and had in many ways, never 
hesitated with her love for him. 

When, however, it came to the disposition of the 
little babe now nearly two years of age, Paul had 
stubbornly refused to recognize him as his own, 
though repeatedly urged by his kindly old attorney 
to do so. It had been settled, however, by all of the 
parties that legal custody of little George was to be 
given to Mildred without publicity to be given as to 
Paul’ contentions. 

When Mildred had been informed at her home by 
her attorney as to Paul’s attitude, she burst into tears 
and refused to believe the attorney, but when he im- 
pressed her with the truthfulness of his representa- 
tions, she wept out her feelings by saying : 

“I know that I have wronged Paul and I can never 
forgive myself, but God knows, dear little George is 
Paul’s son. Tell him that Mildred, who is the 
mother, begs him to believe her.” 


220 


DIVORCED 


When her words were repeated to him, Paul was 
obdurate. He refused to believe. 

The entire matter having been gone over by the 
attorneys, they. were preparing for the signatures of 
each of the parties and only a little writing was neces- 
sary to be concluded by Judge Young. 

Aldine had been running around the room engaged 
in play, going to first one and then the other of her 
parents and had placed her doll in her mother’s lap. 
Without any warning whatever as to what she did, 
she suddenly ran over to her father and tugging at 
his hand, as he quietly sat there, said to him with the 
dear little voice of innocence as to all that would take 
place : 

^^Now papa^ why don^t you talk to my mamaT^ 

With averted faces they had been in the presence 
of each other several minutes. They had in an en- 
forced way met, with a realization of what the world 
had made for them as the conventional proprieties 
that should govern them. Not only had they not 
spoken to each other, but they had refrained from 
even looking in the direction of where each sat. More 
than that, they each well knew that there was a deter- 
mination upon the part of both of them to chill and 
kill their loves for each other forever. Every influ- 
ence and condition had conspired to bury rather than 
to revive affection and regard. They had forgotten, 
even, that there was a tie that could ever bind them 
together again. 

It was the old,old story of the little child leading 
the way. It was the silvery-toned voice of innocent 



Now papa, why don’t you talk to my mama? 




DIVORCED 


223 


childhood that could attune the heart-strings Into a 
unison of harmony — and It was the softened touches 
of little fingeres that could again play upon those 
human harp strings and revive the dear sweet strains 
of the world’s story and song of memory’s love — and, 
too, It was the little hand that could turn the knob of 
the doorway of memory, flooding these saddened 
units of the world with sad and tender recall, that 
there stood their own blood sounding the last call to 
loves that lingered still. 

For a moment there was the silence that reigns 
after the lightning’s bolt has found Its way before the 
thunder rolls. 

The lawyers maintained that silence which knows 
of the delivered blow when the wound Is searched for. 

Soon there was heard a suppressed sob from the 
breast of poor Paul. There was no disguise that he 
employed to hide his emotion. His whole body shook 
and trembled as he burst Into manly tears that pride 
could not overcome. Nor was he alone In his feelings. 
The beautiful wife and mother, she who had been 
Imperious In her early womanhood, she who had 
given the very great fullness of her heart with a great 
love, to Paul, she, who had been chastised with the 
sorrows that had come from sin and death, turned her 
face for once In the direction of Paul and yielded to 
the tears and sobs that now overwhelmed her. Un- 
able to appreciate and know that she had been the 
cause of the emotion of her parents, little Aldine, 
who had been the Instrumentality of so much real 
happiness to the father and the mother, but who was 


224 


DIVORCED 


arresting their dying loves for the moment, was add- 
ing her childish tears, as she put her head in her 
mother’s lap. 

It is almost humorous, sometimes, to observe the 
awkwardness with which grown-up men seek to avoid 
the embarrassment of such a situation as the one pre- 
sented. Here were two educated lawyers who had 
gone through life, largely dealing with life’s woes 
and passions in their varied forms — who had often 
seen sorrows and suffering as their profession occa- 
sioned — who were by no means strangers to similar 
scenes. 

Good old Judge Young, who had really secretly 
planned the necessity of the meeting, with the hope of 
there being a possible reconciliation, was standing 
near the table with two suspiciously large tears roll- 
ing down his cheeks. There was nothing left him to 
do, as he viewed the matter, but to blow his nose very 
significantly, by which means he could easily hide his 
emotion. This he did, in fair imitation of the 
trumpeting of an elephant. At the same time, the 
hardened prosecutor had turned his face from the 
Judge and was giving away to a violent spell of 
coughing, that was bidding fair to become almost a 
paroxysm of alarming proportions. To them it 
seemed pre-eminently proper for them to have sud- 
denly so engaged in such exercises in order, as they 
thought, to hide the spectacle of such real dignity as 
they possessed, being surrendered to sentiment of any 
kind. It was the Judge who suggested that he would 


DIVORCED 


225 


go down into the drug store and procure something 
for a cold, and he had said to the prosecutor: 

“Won’t you come and join me, Robert?” as he 
started out of the door leading downstairs. 

“No, Judge, I will remain here and finish drawing 
up this agreement.” 

What he meant was that he proposed to show the 
aged lawyer that he could avoid betraying the weak- 
ness that he had shown, and that he could go on 
through the scene with such dignity and indifference 
to sentiment as became his profession and office. 

He knew that Judge Young had not gone to any 
drug store. 

Judge Young also knew that the prosecutor would 
soon follow. 

Perhaps the short space of a minute had elapsed 
when, sitting at a table pretending to write, with 
the sobs of his friends sounding in his ears, and 
viewing the sad havoc created by the little girl, the 
very talented and dignified State’s Attorney McElroy 
suddenly came to the conclusion that his cough was 
rapidly growing worse, and with that impression 
firmly fixed in his mind, started to the same drug 
store to which his old friend had gone. 

But for some reason, possibly absent-mindedness, 
he dropped into a certain bar, where he was not sur- 
prised to see Judge Young with one arm upon the 
bar and who said to him: 

“I ordered for you, as you see,” at the same time 
pointing to the two drinks already on the bar. 


226 


DIVORCED 


They had remained away for some time and upon 
their return, they each confidently hoped that there 
might be a reunion of their clients. But upon enter- 
ing, it was evident that there was no change that had 
taken place in that direction, the only apparent dif- 
ference being that they subdued and controlled to 
a great extent, their fedings. 

And so, all of the requirements of the transaction 
being followed as to the signing by both parties of 
several instruments, Paul, accompanied by his attor- 
ney, left the office with Mildred remaining, who, 
after further advice being given her, departed for her 
home. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE PASSING OF TIME 

DIVORCE had been granted to Paul and the 
property settlement had been made, and it 
was only a few weeks afterward that Mil- 
dred, accompanied by her mother and her little 
children, left C. with the intention of making her 
home in the city of N , in the State of T . 

One night at about twelve o’clock, at that time, she 
had taken a train at C., with a few friends telling 
her farewell. She had not kept her intended leave- 
taking from her acquaintances, but without pretence 
as to preparation, had quietly informed her nearest 
friends of her intention to leave the little town where 
she had enjoyed so much happiness. As the time 
drew near for her to leave, her heart was made to 
grow full in contemplation of the struggle that she 
knew would be required. 

She lived over the years of her early life many 
times, passing through the countless joys and intense 
sorrows of her later years. Regretting as she did 
the moment when she would be compelled to sadly 
leave the home of her early girlhood and woman- 
hood, with all of the dear memories that now came to 



228 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


her, remembering the friends that had seemed to be 
countless to her at one time and knowing how few, 
indeed, they had now become in number, she felt the 
wisdom of her mother’s judgment that the only course 
left to be pursued was to begin life anew elsewhere. 

The exile into which she was forcing herself, as the 
time drew near, had brought punishment and sorrow 
without abatement. Her pride had been humbled 
with the coming of time after the clouds had come 
into her life. The great bitterness of the cup out of 
which she drank had never lessened. 

During the months that she had remained in C., 
before she left, she had never essayed to appear in 
public. She had had no desire in that direction. In 
fact, the only time when she had ever gone upon 
the streets of the little town, was when she had driven 
to her lawyer’s office on the occasion of her seeing 
Paul for the last time. While she was not averse to 
seeing those of her acquaintances whom she knew to 
be loyal to her, she had seen them only at her home. 

She and her mother had remained closely at home. 
She spent much of her time in the natural devotion 
she felt for her children. She found herself to have 
a growing affection for them. As her sorrows be- 
came more mellowed with the passing of time, she 
gave herself up to exclusive attention to them. She 
had not allowed her own sad state to rob or deprive 
her of maternal love. The reverse was true, for she 
now felt it to be a more than consoling diversion to 
turn the darkness of brooding care to the lighter and 
sweeter cares of love. 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


229 


The solitude that had fallen her lot as a result of 
the unhappy train of events, had left its unmistakable 
evidence of punishment. Though possessed still, of 
that charm of beauty, which she ever had, yet 
there were evidenced marked influences that were 
antagonizing her youth. 

Let no one who may read these lines, think with 
the slightest pause, that her heart had not gone 
through the inflictions of most awful torture. She 
had gone to her God with bended knee and most con- 
trite heart seeking the forgiveness her real woman- 
hood demanded. Often in the company of her 
beloved pastor and always made stronger with his 
consolation and advice, she had become a most thor- 
oughly penitent woman. She had made that pro- 
gress, the real Christianity of the Saviour teaches can 
come to the world, and as she did so, there began to 
reappear some of her magnificence of spirit and 
character. And though yet a sad-faced woman, the 
mutations of time had begun to assert themselves. 
She learned of the unforgiving spirit of her sex as she 
correspondingly learned of the graciousness of the 
Spirit whom she had most offended. 

And when the train had pulled out at C., on the 
night of her departure, there was no little of scorn 
for the uncharitable persecution she had endured at 
the hands of an unforgiving public, and particularly, 
the pretentious ostracism that emanated from the 
women of her home, although she yet felt the un- 
diminished humility of her position. She had learned 
that the humanity that she had known so well, was 


230 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


not the Christianity she was seeking so hard to learn. 
Her experience had somewhat justly embittered her 
against the usurping element so much in evidence that 
hides wtihin the folds of pretence and hypocrisy and 
doubtless, the same unrelentless scorn and lack of 
charity which scare so many away from the doors of 
the church. 

Indeed, are there not more souls lost, after all, 
through the withholding of the hand of charity and 
just a little of the heart’s kindness — and the suppres- 
sion of human sympathy from our fellows, than any 
other reason? — And particularly is this true when 
there is the austere and forbidding demeanor by those 
who assume so much of the Holier-Than-Thou spirit 
of the world? But it was ever true of the world. 
Where cant rather than Christ rules; — where the 
dogma rather than the deed of right makes conquest; 
— where pretence rather than principle prevails, then 
always will the human family perish at the steps of 
the church they feel driven from rather than led into 
the folds of Christianity. 

Upon arriving in the city of N. — a suitable and 
unpretentious home was secured where they began 
anew to fight the battles of life. Here, they lived 
amid new surroundings, and in the course of time 
finding newly-made friends that brought about the 
elimination of some of the acuteness of memory. 

The beauty of Mildred early began to attract 
admiration to her, that she not only did not seek or 
court, but that she rather avoided. She remained 
with her mother and the children at her newly-found 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


231 


home and avoided any premature extension of 
acquaintanceship. She and her mother felt that it 
was only a question of time until her sorrows would 
follow her and she preferred to await the overtures 
of time and its complacency rather than to subject her- 
self to the crucifixion by the public again. 

Time continued to deal kindly with all of the little 
family with good health being bestowed upon them. 

As the years went by, however, Mildred was 
robbed of her best of all friends. Age and its ravages 
had for some time begun to show upon the dear old 
mother who had always been her staunchest support 
and consolation. Stricken with a most malignant 
type of typhoid fever, the disease began to slowly 
consume and weaken the vitality already menaced by 
age. Thought to have passed the critical period of 
her illness, Mildred’s heart was gladdened by the 
intelligence that the crisis had passed and that she 
would recover, in the opinion of the attending physi- 
cian. But the wasted form could not muster the 
strength required and a sudden relapse had set in. 
With the best nursing and with Mildred constantly 
at her bedside, everything possible was done for 
the noble-hearted woman. Always with the very 
greatest courage she had cheerfully assured Mil- 
dred that she would soon be herself again. Brave to 
the very last, she continued, though bedridden, to 
give courage and comfort to Mildred. And though 
she continued to maintain that she would soon re- 
cover, it could be seen by Mildred that she was begin- 
ning to show the inevitable signs of dissolution. Day 


232 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


by day the kindly eyes grew dimmer than the day 
before, when finally, one day after the doctor had 
gone, Mildred was called to the bedside of her 
mother. The daughter could see that a significant 
change had taken place in the condition of her 
mother. She hastily again sent for the doctor, but 
before he came the mother insisted upon Mildred 
taking her hands. 

As she did so, the mother’s voice began to trem- 
blingly say: “My poor, dear girl! How you have 
suffered!” 

As she spoke Mildred felt herself seized with the 
greatest fear. But she said in reply as if to encourage 
her : 

“No, dear mother, your own great love has kept 
me from suffering. You have made me want to live. 
Do not worry for me, dear one. You will soon grow 
better and be my darling mother again, won’t you?” 

The tears came in the eyes of the dying woman 
and as she grasped her daughter’s hands in hers, she 
began suddenly to gasp as if for breath. She seemed 
to partially recover herself, however, and said: 

“No, my dear Mildred — I will not grow better — 
I will soon be with your dear father — I am passing 
back to Him who gave me to the world. Dear child, 
I would want to live, just for you. — But — your old 
mother must leave you — now. God is calling and I 
must go to — do kiss me — once more. How I have 
loved you precious child How I have tried to stand 
between you and the cruel — world — only He knows.” 

The good woman began to sink rapidly and as the 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


233 


doctor now came in and to her side, he could see that 
the end was near. 

‘‘Mildred — my Mildred — kiss” — but she never 
finished the sentence. She died with love on her lips 
— died as a pure-hearted and Christian woman, that 
she was. No brave soldier ever wielded the lance 
against contending foes with greater valor than had 
this dying soul striven with her love for the child of 
adoption. 

How intense was the grief of Mildred, no one 
could ever know. She fell across the breast of her 
mother and hundreds of times kissed the pallid cheeks 
and lips that had so lately spoken for the favor of 
the daughter’s kiss. 

She had given way, now, to her uncontrollable 
grief for the death of the only one that she knew 
really loved her. She never knew but that she was 
her own mother — and both of the parents had, to 
their graves, been faithful to their promises that she 
should never know but that they were her real 
parents. 

But could ever mother by blood have been nearer 
and dearer to her, than this strong-hearted old 
woman? Was ever heart purer or truer than had 
been hers? 

When Mildred stood at the graveside of her 
mother and shed the tears of unchecked grief, that 
seemed so incapable of being changed, she felt her 
loneliness with a keenness that was now appalling. 
Through her mother’s bravery and goodness she had 
been enabled to face the world and fight her way 


234 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


from humiliation and shame to her God. But what 
could she accomplish now? Upon whom could she 
now rely? To whom could she now turn for that 
sweet consolation that was always hers from her 
mother? Dear old Dr. Eldred was gone sometime 
since, and now, it was mother, who must be taken 
away. 

At the time of her mother’s death, Aldine had 
grown to be about the age of ten years and George 
had reached something near six years. With her 
mother’s death she had turned more and more to her 
children, who had become the last source of greatest 
comfort to her. 

Aldine was one of those bright and endearing 
young girls that so easily win their way into hearts. 
She was dutiful to her mother and their affection 
had become a charm with each of them. While both 
of the children were attending school, yet Aldine 
was receiving assistance from her mother in many 
ways clearly shown. For Instance, inheriting her 
mother’s musical talent, she was being given special 
attention by Mildred with most flattering results. 
Her inherited ability gave her mother much satisfac- 
tion and it enabled her to devote her efforts toward 
educating Aldine, and produced within her a great 
ambition for her future. 

Aldine regularly received letters from her father 
who still lived in C. On three or four occasions she 
had visited him and had remained with him during 
parts of vacations. These letters were always of the 
most affectionate nature and gave her very much 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


235 


pleasure. In none of them, however, was there ever 
any mention of her mother. Being too young to 
have remembered any of the incidents that caused the 
separation of her parents, upon several occasions she 
had pressed her mother for the reason for their not 
living together. Mildred had told her that they 
could not agree and for that reason a divorce had 
been granted. This did not satisfy Aldine and she 
asked: 

“But mother, why didn’t you agree? Was it your 
fault or his?” 

It was plain to the child that the mother did not 
relish her question, but as she turned away from 
Aldine, she answered: 

“My child, I hope that you will never ask me about 
this again. But I will tell you that it was MY fault.” 

“How could my dear mother have been to blame? 
I know that you could not and I will not believe you.” 

As the child addressed her mother she saw that 
there were tears in her eyes, and she ran to her and 
throwing her arms around her kissed her again and 
again, saying, to her : 

“Please, mother, do not cry. I will not mention it 
again. But you see I just can’t believe you though 
you say it.” 

It was indeed a most trying ordeal for Mildred. 
She felt as if she should tell Aldine but her jealous 
regard made her fear that she might lose her love. So 
she had not only refrained from telling her but had 
again admonished her that she must not mention the 
subject again. 


236 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


One day when Aldine was about twelve years of 
age, a letter had come for her while she was at 
school, from her father. Upon her return home she 
had opened the letter and was engaged in reading 
it when she suddenly cried out to her mother : 

“Oh mother, what do you think? Father has 
married.” 

The blood suddenly left the face of Mildred for 
the moment and it was very clear to the child that 
her mother was affected by her news. There was 
no difficulty in reading the pain that came across the 
face of her mother. Aldine was quick to see the 
sudden change and to go to her at once. 

“How could he have done such a thing and with 
you living?” she both asked and asserted. “I don’t 
think that he had a right to do such a thing,” she 
added. 

“But, my child, your father had a right to remarry 
and if he loves his wife, it is quite proper for him to 
do so. You must know as I have told you, that we 
are nothing to each other since the divorce was 
granted.” 

Mildred had partially recovered her composure 
and was attempting to answer with assumed 
indifference. She could easily discern that her reply 
did not satisfy even the youthful mind and she also 
knew that her nervous emotion had not escaped 
Aldine, when the news of Paul’s marriage was made 
known. But how else could she escape from the 
loving inquiry, unless she boldly spoke the truth, 
which she dared not do ? 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


237 


The death-knell of her love, it would seem, had 
come. It was true that Paul had at last disowned all 
recognition of her and had married the daughter of a 
very wealthy citizen of the section in which C. was 
situated. In fact, she had known his second bride — 
a most lovable and delightful woman, with many 
friends who delighted in her friendship. She knew 
her to be not only a good woman, but one whose 
womanhood had always been admired and respected. 
She would rather, down deep in her heart that it 
had not been so. 

There came over the lonely woman a change in 
disposition that was inevitable. As she had con- 
tinued to absent herself from every species of pleas- 
ure and had devoted herself so exclusively to her 
children and their welfare, Mildred began to feel 
once more a desire to throw aside the seriousness 
of the life she was living and to engage in some of the 
pleasures of her past. She did not desire any of the 
gayety of society, nor the entry of any realm so 
fringed with the conventionalities of the time, but 
she was yet a young woman, and she had begun to 
feel the effects of the life of the recluse. She longed 
once more for the enjoyable horseback ride. She 
wishd that she might call to her, the irrepressible 
‘‘Raritan” for just one dash over the neighboring 
roads. 

Ah, what ineffably dear memories came to her as 
she recalled that dear horse of her father ! How she 
recalled the day that she had against her father’s 
wishes, stolen him out of the stable and had ridden 


238 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


him ! How he fought her every effort at control of 
him ! Indeed, did she not remember the occasion 
when coming through the streets of C. he had fright- 
ened at a threshing separator upon the public square 
and had tried to throw her? How he had lunged 
and reared and had avoided being ridden in the 
direction of the machine ! She had not forgotten how 
she had refused the proffered assistance of many 
men who came running to catch hold of the bridle, 
fearing that he would throw her. As she looked 
back, she could almost see the handsome man who 
had dashed to the horse’s head and had caught hold 
of the rein as “Raritan” was misbehaving and trying 
to throw her. That was Paul. She had cut him with 
her whip, to make him turn loose his hold. And 
then when she had compelled the unruly horse to 
finally yield and approach the cause of his fright, and 
then with docility go up the street to her home ! 
Dear days ! But now so utterly beyond recall ! 

One day, not long after she had permitted her 
mind to run in this direction, she had mentioned her 
desire for a horse to Mr. Caldwell, her banker. 

Mr. Caldwell had always been exceedingly kind 
and courteous to her in the few business transactions 
she had had at the bank and she felt that he would 
assist her. 

“Why, my dear Mrs. Hanley,” he replied. “I did 
not know that you were a horse fancier. Had I so 
known, I would have proffered you one of my own 
horses, long ago. I am sure that he would please 
you, and if you will permit I will bring him to you 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


239 


any time you wish. And if you will only allow me the 
pleasure of accompanying you, I will guarantee his 
good behavior.” 

The banker was eager in his tender as she could 
see. Several times he had sought to engage Mildred 
in conversation aside from business, but adhering 
always to her policy of avoiding rather than cultivat- 
ing acquaintances, she had refrained from even notic- 
ing his overtures. 

But now, she had felt that since she so desired a 
horse again, there was no justice in denying the 
offered friendship. She therefore said to him in 
reply : 

“Your kindness will certainly be more than appre- 
ciated. I do so love horses, that the pleasure of 
mounting one again will be a great delight to me.” 

While she had no other than a casual acquaintance 
with him, the banker had always been very courteous- 
ly engaging in his manner toward her, and she felt 
no hesitancy as to accepting his offer. 

As a result, on the next afternoon, he had ridden 
up to her home riding a dark bay and leading a black 
horse that at once reminded her of her own “Rari- 
tan.” She found the horse to be a most charming 
mount, and had enjoyed the ride which they had 
taken, with unfeigned pleasure. She had convinced 
him that she was a skilled horsewoman, and he had 
secretly admired the manner in which she so grace- 
fully sat her horse. As they rode, the exhilarating 
Influences and effect of the exercise, had brought the 
surging and beautiful glow of health to her cheeks. 


240 


THE PASSING OF TIME 


She had suddenly become the Mildred of old with her 
countless charms. 

As she rode by his side, his admiration of her was 
easily felt. With compliments as to her skill, he, him- 
self being a most accomplished horseman, he was tak- 
ing much pride in her companionship. She appre- 
ciated his courtesies and compliments and thoroughly 
enjoyed her outing. 

When she alighted at her home after having given 
her promise of another engagement, she had turned 
with a smile of thanks to the Southerner and walked 
into the front yard where she met Aldine. 

This was the forerunner of many more rides. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

REMARRIED. 

EORGE CALDWELL was cashier of the 
First National Bank of N., and though not 
wealthy, was considered a successful business 
He had never married and had always lived 
with his mother, who was a somewhat pretentiously 
aristocratic leader in social circles. He loved his 
mother and to a large degree was obediently mindful 
of her wishes. He was not unlike the average young 
man of his time and country. He had not been free 
from some of the errors and mistakes of young men. 
At times he had been given to dissipation and had 
occasioned his mother no little worry, but in more 
recent years, his habits were more exemplary and his 
escapades of less frequent occurrence. 

After the companionship of the first ride, he had 
called at he home of Mildred many times. 

He frequently accompanied her to the theaters 
and other places of amusement. In fact, he was soon 
a very attentive admirer without concealment. He 
was not only a companionable man, but was a man of 
no little refinement and accomplishment. He pos- 
sessed the attainments that go with a collegiate educa- 
tion and was a most pleasing entertainer in conversa- 
tion as in other respects. 



man. 


242 


REMARRIED 


While Mildred was not infatuated with him, yet 
she knew that she was beginning to very much admire 
him. His kindness to her had impressed her and she 
felt herself yielding to the friendship he was offering. 
Always, he had been most gentlemanly and consider- 
ate of her most trivial wishes. That she did not love 
him, she felt sure. And yet she was equally sure that 
he would soon declare his love to her. 

She dreaded the coming of such an event. 

She had not permitted herself to even assume that 
George Caldwell was ignorant of her unhappy past. 
She could not conceive of such being the case. Nor 
could she think of such a man wishing marriage with 
her when the truth should be told him. She knew, 
too, that her sense of justice would impel her, though 
with the greatest shame, to faithfully lay before him 
her sin, if, indeed, he should ever go so far as to offer 
her his hand in marriage. The very thought of the 
possibility of events confused her to the extent that 
she began to wish that their friendship had never 
arisen. 

Months went by and with the coming of time, Mil- 
dred more and more had entered again into the spirit 
of life. 

True, indeed, the spectre of her sorrow would 
often intrude itself upon her and on such occasions 
her heart would bleed as in memory she would be 
taken back to the dark hours of her life. At times 
she would grow dispirited, and with only the greatest 
effort, throw off her burdensome despondency. But 
with the responsibilities of a mother and the real love 


REMARRIED 


243 


she bore for her children, she would courageously 
resume her newer self. One winter night the snow 
had fallen to the depth of several inches and as she 
looked out upon arising the next morning, her heart 
seemd to sink within her at its sight. There came to 
her the awful reminder — the stage setting of sin. She 
beheld the snow as if it were the morning after the 
tragedy. How intense were the sufferings of the 
heartsore woman ! Yet her heart was as pure as the 
driven snow itself. 

How true it is that the extent of suffering is the 
measure of the sins we commit against our God! 

It had been nearly a year since George Caldwell 
had begun paying his attentions to Mildred. Never 
directly had he made open avowal of his love ; but his 
demeanor had been that of greatest admiration. In 
many ways he had shown himself in the guise of a 
most devoted admirer. Eager always to be in her 
presence, remembering her constantly with flowers 
and costly presents, there could be no mistaking his 
attentions. 

One night they had returned from the theater and 
he had insisted upon remaining for a time. Mildred 
had been most charmingly gowned and as she sat by 
his side, in all her beauty, he had been more than ever 
drawn to her. To him she was one beautiful and 
fascinating dream, and he could no longer restrain his 
love for her. 

Seated by her side at her home, for some reason 
there was a more than usual pause in their conversa- 


244 


REMARRIED 


tion. Instinctively they each seemed to sense the hap- 
pening of the coming event. 

He now dared to give expression of his heart. As 
he touched her, she realized that a possible unhappy 
incident was about to take place. She did not with- 
draw from him, but permitted his overtures. 

“Mildred,” he began, “I love you and I want you 
to be my wife,” and thus addressing her, he sought 
to place his arm around her. 

Mildred, however, was quick to release herself 
from his embrace, and it was plain to him that she 
was undergoing great emotion. 

“My dear kind friend,” she said, “please do not 
pain me by asking me that which is impossible. I 
can never be your wife.” 

“But Mildred, am I distasteful to you? Can you 
not return the love which I offer you?” he asked as he 
again sought her hand. 

“Mr. Caldwell,” she replied, “you are far too 
much of a gentleman for me to speak other than with 
the greatest candor. You have been so kind and dear 
to me,” and Mildred put her hand upon his, “that I 
shrink from telling you that I do not love you. I 
cannot tell you how dear you are to me, but I cannot 
give you my heart. You would not want me to marry 
you without I loved you, surely?” 

“But my dear woman,” he replied, “you may not 
be able to say that you return my love with the ardor 
with which I offer it. Still, I feel and I know that in 
time I would win your heart in its entirety. I do not 
fear upon that score. I know that I could make you 


REMARRIED 


245 


a happy woman with the love I bear for you. It 
would be no experiment, but would be the foregone 
conclusion of a love that is all yours. Dear Mildred, 
I cannot take ‘No’ for an answer.” He spoke with 
great earnestness. 

“How hard you make it for me to refuse you, dear 
friend,” she said. “I feel that you really love me and 
I know that you would be kind to me and mine.” 

As she spoke, she drew away from him; and as she 
did so her face gave evidence of pain and suffering. 
Hesitating for the moment, she arose, and standing in 
front of him, continued : 

“Besides, I feel compelled to tell you that when I 
have told you another more vitally important reason 
as to why you should not marry me, and when I shall 
have told you of the great blot upon my own life, you 
will shrink from me as one to be hated rather than 
loved. My heart bleeds as I know that I must speak 
truthfully to you. I believe in, and dear friend, I 
trust you. 

“I have not been unprepared for this moment to 
arrive. In fact, I have felt for a long time that soon 
you would tell me of your love — and it has hurt me 
keenly to know of what pain you might suffer when 
you learn the truth about me dishonoring another” — 

Mildred had really begun to tell him of the great 
sorrow of her life, but she was interrupted by him 
as he suddenly and boldly threw his arms around her 
and drew her to him. She struggled to free herself, 
but as she did so he held her the more closely. 

“Unhappy woman,” he said to her, “you need go 


246 


REMARRIED 


no further. I know every word you would say. My 
own sense of honor would not permit me to let you 
tell me the sad story of your life. Do not open a 
wound that time should heal. I am honoring the fine 
womanhood that could permit you to lay bare your 
unhappiness. I know that the heart that can be so 
truthful is more than worthy of any love I could give. 
I love you, now, more than ever. Come, Mildred, 
my heart calls for you.” 

As he now spoke to her, there were tears in her 
eyes, and as she looked into his face, she felt how 
great indeed must be his love for her. 

“Do you mean to say that after knowing of my 
deep sin that you want me for your wife?” she asked. 

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes,” was his answer. 

“But do you think in after years your love might 
not chill and there might not come the revulsion of 
feeling that could make your love die?” she asked. 

“No, Mildred, I tell you no. Speak and give me 
the answer my love craves,” he impetuously implored. 

As she looked up into his eyes he saw her answer 
and he fondly kissed her while in his arms. 

She had told him that she did not love him and had 
been so perfectly candid with him that there could be 
no mistake. Yet he insisted. 

The poor heart had been disturbed with sad loneli- 
ness so long and there was so much apparent nobility 
about Mr. Caldwell’s love that she had felt no self- 
censure. Why should she not yield herself to one 
who could thus love? And, indeed, might he not 
make her happy with such generous affection? 


REMARRIED 


247 


Added to the despairing loneliness of herself, and 
with so much of coldness that she had felt from the 
world, was the great desire for the sympathy that a 
woman’s heart craves and the protecting companion- 
ship nature demands. 

She remained up for a long time after her accepted 
suitor had gone; and even after she had retired, it 
was far into the morning before she fell into slum- 
brous dreams of happiness once more. 

Within a month they were quietly married. 


CHAPTER XXVL 

WOE^S CRUCIBLE. 

H ILDRED’S husband was lavish in the man- 
ner of his treatment of her. He spared noth- 
ing in order that he might make suitable pro- 
vision for her and her children. Immediately after 
their marriage he had taken her to a most elegantly 
furnished home where she was provided with every 
luxury she could wish for. He lost no opportunity to 
show considerate regard for her every wish. 

Following their marriage, they had entertained 
somewhat generously, and their new home became 
noted for its hospitality. Her husband was exceed- 
ingly proud of her, and courted the unlimited ad- 
miration of her beauty and accomplishments. She 
always made a most popular hostess and her friends 
began to increase very rapidly in numbers. 

Mildred, for many months was as nearly happy 
as she had expected to be. Her husband had not 
only been kind to her and always indulgently consid- 
erate, but he had won his way toward her heart by 
his splendid qualities of a husband. Six months had 
gone by and not a cloud had hovered over her except 
that which came from the past. 


WOE’S CRUCIBLE 


249 


But when several years had elapsed conditions 
were greatly changed. 

George Caldwell, for more than three years had 
become a changed man. He had slowly but surely 
acquired the habits of intemperance. At first, he 
had begun to indulge mildly and was never noticeably 
intoxicated. But as time went by he began to come 
home under the influence of drink. As the habit grew 
upon him, he also acquired the habit of coming home 
tardily and at late hours. Once he had remained 
away all night. Mildred had not scolded, but with 
dearest kindness she had pleaded with him to desist. 
For a time, he would refrain from indulgence, but 
for no longer period than a week at a time. 

Mildred had become troubled to such an extent 
that her face showed it. Her friends, while not men- 
tioning it, yet gave most unmistakable evidence of 
knowing the cause of her worry. 

Added to his dissipation was the gambling vice. 
Frequently, now, he would remain away all night, 
always giving plausible “business” reasons as excuses. 

It was not long before he was asked to resign his 
position at the bank, because of some alleged irregu- 
larity which his aged mother adjusted. 

From the time of his discharge from the bank, he 
grew rapidly worse in his habits and seemed to lose 
all sense of pride. Absenting himself from his home 
for days at a time was by no means unusual. It was 
now becoming a rare thing for him to enter his home, 
except when under the influence of intoxicants. At 
first when intoxicated, he conducted himself in a most 


250 


WOE’S CRUCIBLE 


kindly though drunken manner; but there came the 
time when he became abusive of Mildred and the 
children. 

He now began to borrow heavily from Mildred’s 
bank account, and was utterly disregardful of how 
he used her money. She felt keenly the failure of all 
her attempts at reforming her husband. She was in 
such a state of indecision that Aldine had threatened 
to write to her father, but her mother had prevailed 
upon her not to do so. 

Up to this time he had never been cruel to Mildred 
to the extent that he had ever struck her. 

But one night about seven o’clock he came home, 
staggering into the house In a maudlin state of Intoxi- 
cation. 

He had sat down to the evening meal, but was en- 
tirely oblivious of his surroundings. As he sat with 
half closed eyes, mumbling and Incoherently cursing, 
he crazily and suddenly sprang from his chair and 
grabbing a plate In his hand threw it at Aldine, bare- 
ly missing her. At this juncture, George came run- 
ning into the room. He had heard the uproar from 
the upstairs and surmising the cause, had grabbed a 
pistol lying upon a shelf where he had hid it only a 
few days before, anticipating the possibility of Its use. 

The Insane man had now secured the carving knife 
and was advancing upon the boy’s mother, with it 
raised in his hand, with curses and threats to kill her, 
and with Irresponsible mind had endeavored to reach 
Mildred, who was making every effort to escape him. 

It was at this time that George ran in, and seeing 


WOE^S CRUCIBLE 


251 


the situation, hastily took aim and fired. The 
first shot missed, but upon the second shot being fired, 
Caldwell fell to the floor with a wound in his hip. 
The man, almost insensible even to his wound, lay 
upon the floor, hurling oath after oath at Mildred, 
and as he writhed upon the floor grated his teeth to- 
gether as if mad. 

Neighbors, hearing the shots, came running in. 
The police department was notified and soon the 
wounded man was taken away. Ascertaining that 
George had fired the shot, he was taken to the police 
station. 

Mildred was frantic. Friends sought to quiet her 
and remained with her. 

Aldine had disappeared at the time of George be- 
ing taken away. Seeing that her mother was being 
taken care of, she hastily ran to a street car and rode 
to a telegraph station. She had made up her mind 
to do what should be done and promptly did it. She 
sent this message to her father: 

“Come at once. George is arrested for shooting 
Caldwell while attempting to kill mother.” 

She knew that if the message were delivered with- 
in an hour her father could catch the train enabling 
him to reach N — by four o’clock the next morning. 
Having made arrangements for a night delivery, she 
hastened to return home. 

Aldine could give no satisfactory explanation as 
to her absence, and, in fact, offered none. Her mis- 
sion having been performed, she remained at the side 
of her mother. 


252 


WOE’S CRUCIBLE 


It was not more than two hours after George had 
been arrested before he was released under bond 
given by the president of the bank where Caldwell 
had been cashier, and who had gone to the police 
station upon hearing of the shooting. 

Upon his return, his mother literally smothered 
him with her embraces, so overjoyed was she to have 
him in her arms. 

As the excitement gradually subsided, the little 
family was now left alone and it was late in the night 
before they retired. But there was one member of 
the household who did not intend to sleep, although 
she lay by the side of her troubled mother. 

Her mother had passed into only uneasy slumber 
and frequently awoke. 

At about five o’clock in the morning, Aldine heard 
carriage wheels at the front door. When she turned 
on the light and opened the door, there stood the 
answer to her message — her father. With just one 
cry of joy, she sprang into his arms. 

Now there was a commotion upstairs. Mildred 
had been aroused by the door bell as had George. 

“Aldine, Aldine; what has happened? Oh, what 
is the matter?” she asked. 

“Oh, mother; it is just a man who wants to know 
all about what has taken place. He is a dear friend 
of mine and I think of yours. So dress and come 
down,” the clever girl replied. 

Hastily seating her father where he could not be 
seen easily, Aldine ran upstairs and urged her mother 
to dress and come down with her. She had now as- 


WOE’S CRUCIBLE 


253 


sured her mother that it was a newspaper man who 
had called. 

Finally, when Aldine came down leading her 
mother with George in the rear, she passed into the 
sitting room with her mother and suddenly turned 
on the light. 

For the first time in fourteen years, Paul and Mil- 
dred were face to face. 

For an instant their eyes met. Involuntarily there 
were impulsive exclamations upon the part of each 
of them. Mildred, already weakened and made 
nervous from all that she had passed through, was 
not prepared for the surprise of so suddenly seeing 
Paul. With a gasp she closed her eyes and was 
in the act of falling to the floor, when she was 
caught by the arms of Paul, who had rushed to her. 
Held securely by him, he looked into the face of the 
wife of his youth with a look of tenderness and 
solicitation. 

For the brief moment his heart traveled swiftly 
back through the past. 

When Mildred recovered her composure and 
found herself in his arms she was taken to a couch 
where she soon overcame her nervousness. 

Finally, as she looked toward Paul, she said: 

“But I do not understand.” 

“I do, mother!” exclaimed Aldine, and she re- 
counted what she had done as to sending the message. 
“You see, I knew we needed someone who would 
protect us, and I knew who that someone was, and 
I just made him come. That’s all there is to it.” 


254 


WOE^S CRUCIBLE 


“But tell me all about It,” said Paul. 

Aldine faithfully narrated the happenings of the 
evening before, concluding with dragging George to 
the light as she hugged him repeatedly. 

Paul for the first time in fifteen years saw the boy. 
With a bound he had taken George Into his arms. 
One glance instantly convinced him of the enormity 
of the wrong of years against his own son. 

“Mildred, my God, Mildred; that is my hoy, I 
know It because he looks like his father, and I know 
It because he was defending his mother. How I have 
wronged you both!” he cried as he again rushed to 
George and affectionately embraced him. 

Back through the avenues of years he had taken 
but one great stride, but he was Paul, the just, the 
kind and honorable, again. 

Of all the tears that Mildred had shed during the 
last fifteen years she now wept for joy and said: 

“Paul, how I thank you for what you said In behalf 
of my boy.” 

“Now, let me add one thing to what Aldine has 
said. When I received the message, I immediately 
took It to Mary and showed It to her. Without one 
moment of hesitation she said, “Paul, your duty is 
there, and if you do not go, I could never forgive you. 
Go to them at once.’ And how I must thank the kind 
God that I came.” Paul uttered this statement with 
much feeling. 

Paul now arose and walking over to Mildred took 
her hand In his, saying to her: 

“Do not worry, Mildred; I will see that no harm 


WOE’S CRUCIBLE 


255 


comes to George and I will stay until everything is 
as It should be.” 

As he spoke their eyes met and their hands tight- 
ened their clasp. 

“Come now ,my boy, and go with your father and 
we will take a walk,” he said addressing George. 

It was the first time he had ever been so addressed, 
but the alacrity with which he sprang for his hat 
showed his youthful elation. 

As they went out the door Paul heard Mildred say : 

“Oh, Aldine, you angel of a girl!” 

Upon reaching the police station, Paul was In- 
formed that It was feared Caldwell was dying, but 
the officer hastened to add that he was dying from a 
fit of alcoholism and not his wound, which was a 
trifling wound In the fleshy part of the thigh. 

This was most glorious news, because If the un- 
fortunate man died of alcoholism and not from his 
wound, George could not be held responsible for his 
death. 

And true to the officer’s prediction, the news came 
while Paul was yet there that Caldwell had died. 

Much to his agreeable surprise, Paul was Informed 
by the officer that George would remain under the 
bond already given until the inquest was held. This 
was the order of the district attorney who had been 
Informed as to the cause of the death. 

The inquest was held at two o’clock that day, and 
after a full hearing of all the evidence, George was 
exonerated from all blame as to the cause of death. 

At the request of the grief-stricken mother, the 


256 


WOE^S CRUCIBLE 


remains were taken in charge by relatives In her 
behalf and were interred the next day. 

It was the same sad story of the faithful and for- 
giving mother moistening and enriching the earth 
of the newly-made grave, with tears of love for her 
boy whom liquor had killed. And the world knows 
that for every tear that falls from the mother’s eye, 
a for-get-me-not will spring forth. But how tardy 
had been the world in preventing these tears being 
shed for the shame of the poor dead boy! 

Mildred and the children were present at the 
funeral and burial ceremonies. She had shed tears 
of genuine grief over her dead husband, for until 
he surrendered to dissipation, he was so endearing 
himself to her, that he was in reality finding her 
heart. 

There was no longer any excuse for Paul remain- 
ing. So after a most mysterious conference with 
Aldine, he had taken his train homeward. 

He had witnessed the liberation of his boy and 
Mildred as well. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

SADDENED MEMORIES. 

HE weeks following the death of her hus- 
band, left Mildred with an increasing de- 
spondency that she found it most difficult to 
overcome. True, indeed, it was, that to a more 
than great extent, she was released from the soul 
torture that she had encountered in the half crazed 
conduct of her husband. Yet, now that he was dead, 
with all of his erring tendencies and his neglect and 
mistreatment of her, her heart had never been un- 
kindly toward him. She recalled, with no difficulty, 
that the real man had been lost In the violence of his 
dissipation, to which she alone attributed all of his 
misfortunes and the great change that had come over 
him. Remembering the urbane, chivalrous and proud 
Southerner that he was, when first she knew him, 
and when she married him, the contrasting trans- 
formation was pathetically plain and saddening to 
her. That he really loved her, she had never doubted 
and she had never failed in her respect for his re- 
gard for her, even though he had many times given 
the offense through the unfortunate affliction that had 
fastened itself upon him, that in justice might have 
forfeited all right to even respect from her. But 




258 


SADDENED MEMORIES 


she had bravely borne it all with a fortitude and de- 
gree of stoicism, that after all had assumed the form 
of indifference. To her, suffering had been and be- 
come no stranger. Indeed, had her heart not ached 
with the sorrows and suffering of years ! Even as 
she saw the fading manhood of Caldwell, and as she 
had felt the heavy hand of sorrow laid upon her with 
his weakness, somehow she had not the murmur of 
heart or mind that made her native pride rebel. 
Rather had she accepted it all as the lot that was 
justly hers, and as a cross that she was entitled to 
bear and carry. 

Throughout all of this unhappiness — her daily 
anxieties, her fears and disappointments during the 
last year of Caldwell’s life, she had been not only 
dutiful and tenderly affectionate toward him, but she 
truly endeavored to stay his tottering step toward 
the rapid ruin he so certainly approached. But she 
had merely seen the sad and oft-seen picture that 
hangs everywhere upon the walls of memory of the 
countless converted homes, to places of desolation 
through the world’s greatest curse. She had been 
compelled to visit the art gallery of gloom, where 
the subject is the artist, where human tears and blood 
give the coloring and time is used as the paint brush 
with the wretchedness of drink urging on the scene 
painted. 

There was revived by the coming and going of 
Paul, what once had been her own great happiness. 
Surely and certainly the curtain had plainly run up, 
revealing the dark hours of her own life. Again and 


SADDENED MEMORIES 


259 


again, did she now hear the deafening roar of pistol 
shots ringing in her ears. As intensely and often as 
her heart had cried out for mercy as to the sufferings 
she had endured, yet it seemed that her agony must 
grow and her heart ache more than ever. She wished 
that she could not have seen Paul again — and to his 
coming she was attributing the reawakening of recol- 
lections she would fain make slumber. 

Aldine, seeing her mother’s condition of mind, 
had bravely attempted to console her. On occasions, 
she had found her in tears, at which times she would, 
with tenderest love, throw her arms around her and 
seek to drive away her sorrow, by her own light- 
heartedness and cheerfulness. 

‘‘I was thinking, dear child, that we might go to 
the Pacific Coast. There, you know, the climate is 
wonderful, and I am sure you and George would be 
delighted with it.” 

As her mother spoke it could easily be seen that 
there was a shade of disappointment flitting across 
the face of Aldine. 

“But mother, dear, don’t you think that is a dread- 
ful distance away?” she asked. 

“It is not too far to be from the scene of so much 
sorrow, Aldine.” 

Aldine’s face now flushed with a telltale blush, 
that could not be mistaken. 

“And yet, mother, it is such a long way from a 
living love, don’t you think?” As Aldine spoke she 
knew her mother had half read her mind and heart. 

Sometime since her mother had learned of a fast 


260 


SADDENED MEMORIES 


growing regard for Aldine, upon the part of a young 
man by the name of William St. John from C., and 
though she never openly accused Aldine of any af- 
fection upon her part, the mother thought she divined 
Aldine’s objections to her suggestion as to the change. 
Mr. St. John had met her at C. and had upon several 
occasions visited N. for the purpose of seeing Al- 
dine. As a matter of fact, his attentions were ap- 
proved by Paul and her mother. 

Fondly kissing her daughter, the mother under- 
standingly said: 

‘‘If my dear child has adopted this method of 
telling me her heart, the mother understands, and her 
heart is glad for you. You are right. It is too far 
from those you love. But there is no one but you 
and George who love me and I feel that no distance 
can now be too great away from this section for me.” 

Once upon returning home from the city, she had 
unexpectedly come upon her mother in her room 
when she had been weeping. 

^‘Oh, my darling mother,” she almost implored, 
“why must you let your dear heart suffer so? You 
must know that you cannot change conditions. You 
must surely realize that there is nothing that your 
grief can accomplish.” 

“My dear Aldine — my own precious child,” she 
replied, “you can never know the heaviness of your 
mother’s heart. God knows best, but it does seem 
that my share of sorrow has been more than en- 
dured.” 

“But mother, you should not take the death of 


SADDENED MEMORIES 


261 


Mr. Caldwell so keenly to heart. Your grief for 
him will not help you. I feel that you should let time 
take care of conditions and that there should be a 
change in you. Won’t you, my dear mother, for 
Aldine’s sake, look at things in a more cheerful frame 
of mind?” 

Aldine spoke to her mother with such affection that 
her mother felt its charm and influence. Taking 
her in her arms, she said to her: 

“Your mother will never be happy anywhere, and 
we must leave here.” 

To this the daughter replied: 

“Why, mother, do you know I was only waiting 
for an opportunity to say the same thing to you. I 
know you and all of us will be happier. I feel that 
what you said about going to the Pacific Coast would 
be delightful for all of us. And, mother, you know 
I would not let you go without me, anywhere. I love 
my darling mother better than anyone on earth and 
a great deal better than a red-headed man, anyway.” 

With this reply, she hugged her mother even into a 
smile as she referred to her auburn-headed admirer. 

This ended the conversation for the time being, 
but afterwards Mildred, having definitely deter- 
mined to leave N. informed Aldine of her resolution. 

She was still possessed of a very comfortable for- 
tune left by her mother, together with the liberal al- 
lowance which Paul had made her, and she had no 
hesitancy in facing the world in that regard. She 
felt, too, that she must now seek some means by 
which she could employ her mind. But she did not 


262 


SADDENED MEMORIES 


feel as though she could have the heart to do or try 
anything with an effort in N. for the reason that her 
desire to leave had become a fixed determination. 

Aldine had written her father of her mother’s in- 
tentions. She had kept the fact from her mother. 
But she did inform her mother that her father de- 
sired George to visit him at C., which Mildred con- 
sented to. 

It was after George had been with his father for 
several weeks and had returned, that arrangements 
were made to the effect that Aldine should remain at 
C. for a visit and that George should accompany his 
mother, it being agreed that Aldine should join them 
at Los Angeles in the following fall. 

As a result, Mildred disposing of her personal 
property, consisting largely of household goods and 
furniture, in a few days left with George for Cali- 
fornia. Aldine, with many tears, had separated 
from Mildred and George a day or so before the 
mother left N. and had gone to her father. 

“Sweet, dear mother, goodbye; something tells 
me that I should go with you,” Aldine said to her 
mother. 

“No, Aldine, George will watch over me. You 
will come to me later, dear one, my daughter. May 
God be with and watch over you when I cannot! 
Now you must catch your train. Goodbye,” fondly 
spoke Mildred. 

With one more embrace of her mother and a sis- 
ter’s goodbye to George, Aldine was soon speeding 
toward C. on her train. 


SADDENED MEMORIES 


263 


When, a few days afterward, Mildred and George 
departed from N, there was some regret upon her 
part because she had made many friends who had 
been dear to her during her residence there. Yet 
she was always intuitively aware of the fact, that 
to some extent she had been avoided by many. She 
was by no means unmindful of the fact that a certain 
ostracism of her had taken place, due to the fact of 
her past life. She never failed to realize that it al- 
ways followed her in some form or other — if not 
in discourtesies at the hands of others, surely always 
there was something that took her back in mind 
to every hour of her unhappy past. 

God forgives, but the world neither forgives nor 
forgets. 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

A NOBLE WOMAN. 

HEN Aldine had reached C. her father met 
her at the station and drove her to his ele- 
gant home on Main street. His delight upon 
seeing her again was very evident. They were, in- 
deed, both more than glad to see each other. As he 
put her suit cases in the carriage and gave the checks 
for her trunks to an expressman, he almost threw her 
into the carriage as he playfully lifted her off the 
ground. 

His heart had concentrated all of his love upon 
her up to the time of his going to N. and as he 
viewed it, until he had seen George, he had thought 
there was no other entitled to share his love with 
Aldine. But it was not so now. Yet boundless as 
was his affection for his beautiful daughter before 
he had realized that George was also entitled to the 
great love which he now gave the boy, by no means 
did he love her less ; but he felt keenly the injustice 
that had been done George, and was eager that rep- 
aration be made. From the moment he first saw him 
at N. his heart had felt the sincerity of greatest re- 
morse and he chided himself for his own wrong. And, 
now, when he had been so convincingly satisfied of 



A NOBLE WOMAN 


265 


his own mistake, he felt the increasing happiness and 
likewise the lessening of his own great sorrow. 

As they started away from the station, there came 
running up to the carriage Mr. St. John, who greeted 
Aldine in the unmistakable manner of the admirer. 
After a few minutes of conversation, however, Paul 
interrupted the pair by saying good-humoredly: 

“Now, look here, young man, you will have plenty 
of time to come and see this girl, but I want her now. 
You know the way. Will.” 

“If I don’t, I could find it, Mr. Hanley,” laugh- 
ingly replied the young man as the carriage for the 
second time started. 

As they drove away from the station, Paul lost 
no time in asking Aldine about George, carefully 
avoiding any inquiry as to her mother. She was 
quick to notice the omission and proceeded to inten- 
tionally omit any mention of her mother, though she 
told all about George that she knew and concluded 
by saying that George would leave on the following 
day for California. 

When she had finished talking of George, she 
could easily sense her father’s expectancy as to her 
mention of her mother. There was a distinct pause 
in the conversation, which she knew he would break, 
and which he did. 

“And — how about — ,” he began and hesitated. 

Aldine quickly looked up into her father’s face; 
there was no mistaking it. She saw a tear roll down 
his cheek. 

Reaching her right arm around him, Aldine said: 


266 


A NOBLE WOMAN 


“Father!” 

He turned his face toward her. They looked into 
each other’s eyes. Yes, there were the tears with- 
out doubt. Not a word was said, but they under- 
stood each other. Finally, Aldine boldly said to her 
father : 

“My dear father, do not try to deceive Aldine. 
She knows you wanted to know about mother and 
that is not all she knows, either.” 

By this time they had reached her father’s home 
and as they drove up the entrance, Mrs. Hanley 
came to them. 

Aldine saw that a great change had taken place 
in her. She noted the absence of color — and she 
saw what she took to be greatest ill health. She pre- 
tended not to have observed any change, however, 
and fondly kissed and embraced her, Mrs. Hanley 
returning her affection. 

They had always been genuinely fond of each 
other from the beginning of their first acquaintance. 
Somehow, there had been a most mutual bond of 
sympathy between them. Aldine had early learned 
the many splendid womanly attributes of character 
she possessed. She had yielded to her kindness and 
tenderness of care almost as naturally as to her own 
mother. 

And now as she quickly saw the invalid before 
her, it grieved her intensely. As they walked into 
the house she observed plainly, the feebleness of her 
step and put her arm around her as if to assist her. 
Upon reaching the inside, Mrs. Hanley had gone 


A NOBLE WOMAN 


267 


with Aldine to her room. When they reached the 
room and Aldine had sat down Mrs. Hanley lay 
down upon a couch with some eagerness, as she 
thought. 

Aldine went to her and kneeling by her and taking 
her hand in her’s, said to her: 

“You look so tired, dear Mrs. Hanley. Are you 
not feeling well?” 

“No, dear, I have not been well for several days. 
I am much better, however, than I have been and the 
doctor thinks I will improve rapidly from now on. 
Tell me, dear child, about your mother and George,” 
she replied. 

Aldine faithfully told her all about her mother 
and George going away from N. to California. 

“The poor dear woman has all my sympathy in all 
of her troubles, and I am of the opinion she is exer- 
cising good judgment. When Paul received your 
telegram, he brought it to me. I told the dear man 
he must catch the first train to all of you. I was, in- 
deed, glad and so was he that he went.” 

“You dear, good woman! How I love you for 
that kind heart of yours,” cried the young girl in 
response. 

Strange as was the friendship of these two, their 
hearts seemed to respond to each other with easy 
accord. For several moments, Aldine remained 
kneeling by the side of the woman who had held her 
mother’s place, Mrs. Hanley, soothing and consol- 
ing her. The picture is and was out of the ordinary, 
unusual, and seldom seen; but it is and was one of 


268 


A NOBLE WOMAN 


many scenes enacted and made possible by the charm 
and nobility of womanhood when clean and pure 
hearts meet. 

When finally they came down the stairway, there 
was no trace of any emotion observable, as Paul met 
them and led them to a couch where he sat between 
them. 

Aldine began to learn that she was a more than 
welcome guest. Always in the presence of her 
father’s great love for her, she knew, too, that she 
had won a place in the heart of his wife, who really 
intensified the warm welcome of her father by her 
added kindness. Her every comfort and wish were 
lovingly provided and gratified. Though in the days 
and weeks that followed, she longed for her mother 
and George, her entertainment was lovingly looked 
after by her father, his wife and Mr. St. John. 

She, like her mother, was fond of horseback rid- 
ing and spent much of the days upon the back of a 
horse her father had bought for her. On the occa- 
sion of her jaunts over the country roads, she was 
accompanied by her father, but often, to be sure, 
by Mr. St. John, who claimed very much of her time. 
Aldine was a graceful rider and thoroughly enjoyed 
the great pleasure thus afforded her. 

Though the scene of and in the little town where 
the tragedy had been enacted which had so darkened 
and blasted the very life’s happiness of her mother, 
Aldine had fortunately escaped the cruelty of learn- 
ing the cause of her mother’s sorrow. Marvelous 
as it may seem, the kindness of fate had spared the 


A NOBLE WOMAN 


269 


visitation of such a punishment upon her, though 
the constant fear pursued both father and mother 
on this account. 

Happy in her ignorance of all that had taken place 
in the years that had gone by, she was a most for- 
tunate girl — and much to the great credit of all evil 
tongues that might have yet survived the past in C., 
she never had the arrow of poison fired into her love 
for her mother. 

Mr. St. John was not only an accepted suitor, but 
the engagement of the couple was made known to the 
father, to which he most willingly assented. Mr. 
St. John had insisted upon an early marriage, but 
Aldine had withheld an answer until she could write 
to her mother fully acquainting her with his wishes 
in that regard. When the answer came, it was char- 
acteristic of her mother. She would in no wise stand 
in the way ofher daughter’s happiness, but preferred 
that Aldine should visit her first. So it was arranged 
that Aldine should go to her mother upon a visit and 
return in September, at which time the wedding should 
take place. This arrangement met with the approval 
of her father, who strongly encouraged Aldine to 
do as her mother wished. 

As a result, Aldine immediately planned her trip 
to Los Angeles and in a week was speeding to her 
mother. 

Before her departure, her father had talked ear- 
nestly with her as to what he wished to do for 
George, knowing that what he said must be ad- 
dressed to her mother. He had given her to under- 


270 


A NOBLE WOMAN 


stand that while he did not wish to deprive her 
mother of the companionship of George, yet that he 
wished to send him to some reputable university se- 
lected by her mother. And for that purpose he had 
entrusted a very substantial check to her to be de- 
livered to her mother for George, though he knew 
of Mildred’s being amply able to supply all needed 
means for the boy. 

‘‘You must tell George that wherever his mother 
may wish him to go he must go. By all means, he 
must attend some good university.” 

This was said by Paul to Aldine in the presence of 
his wife. Aldine was quick to notice the significant 
glance of Paul’s wife toward her father, but the good 
woman readily gave her expressed sanction of that 
which her father had been saying. 

“Yes, indeed; his mother should be the one to make 
the selection,” Mrs. Hanley added. 

There was no more said upon the subject, though 
her father almost immediately advanced toward his 
wife and put his arm around her with such eloquent 
tenderness that it seemed to be in appreciation of 
what she had said. There was a pause in the con- 
versation after this — and soon they got into the car- 
riage on their way to the station. 

After Aldine had entered the coach of the long 
train after a most affectionate leave-taking, she stood 
upon the rear end of the last car waving her good- 
byes as the train was moving slowly away. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

IN THE LAND OF THE ANGELS. 

FTER crossing the Rockies and traversing 
the hot desert lands intervening and entering 
the vicinity of the Pacific Coast of Southern 
California, the traveler is suddenly made aware of 
that most delectable and magic change of climate, 
which is the munificent gift of God and the great as- 
set of Los Angeles. And as the travel-stained and 
weary tourist alights from his train at any of her rail- 
way stations, there is the suddenness of transition 
that inspires admiration that is life lasting. 

With only slightly varied temperatures through- 
out the year, and with a climate that has made of 
that city the far-famed reputation of being the win- 
ter and summer resort of the nation — where nature 
has made of it the perpetual flower garden with its 
golden sunshine of more than three hundred days in 
the year, well might it have been consistently called 
‘The Land of The Angels.” 

Truly, here is one section where the desert has 
been made to “bloom like the rose.” There is a 
suburb of this beautiful city, Pasadena, where on 
New Year’s day there is had the magnificent flower 
parade of many miles in length, called “The Tourna- 



272 IN THE LAND OF THE ANGELS 


ment of Roses.” On that day of every year, one 
may see hundreds in bathing at Long Beach, not far 
from Los Angeles, and then taking a car that literal- 
ly plows its way through lanes of the flowered king- 
dom, can in less than two hours witness this magni- 
ficent pageant of flowers and In less than another 
hour find himself in the coldness of midwinter and 
its deep snows upon Mt. Lowe — all on the same day. 
Nowhere can vegetation be found more luxuriant. 
Nowhere the balminess of the day nor the Inviting 
coolness of night. It Is the health and pleasure re- 
sort and playground of the whole country. With its 
modernization of architecture and building, and with 
what nature has done for It, supplemented by man’s 
labor, it is one of the most beautiful cities of the 
world. If it be true that the angels founded the city 
it is quite certain, however, that there has been a com- 
plete exodus of all the original founders — but the 
climate is still there. 

Perhaps no place In this country is so much fre- 
quented by strangers and the tourist element as this 
most remarkable city. Throughout the entire year, 
the climatic conditions are such that It Is difficult to 
decide whether the advantages and attractions of the 
climate are greater in winter or summer. Certain 
it Is, however, that it has made It a most popular re- 
sort during all seasons. When the summer months 
come a large proportion of the population finds its 
way to the many resorts at different points upon the 
coast ostensibly on account of the heat, but as a mat- 
ter of fact there is but little, if any, difference in the 


IN THE LAND OF THE ANGELS 273 


temperature at any of these beach resorts as com- 
pared to Los Angeles, which is inland about twenty 
miles. 

There are other reasons for it being a most ex- 
ceptional city. Its people can scarcely find their equal 
anywhere. Every man, woman and child is a self- 
constituted committee of one to point out all the 
glories of their state and particularly their city. No 
more adept advocate could be found, either. From 
the time the stranger registers at his hotel, his in- 
vitations to take an auto trip over the magnificent 
roads of the country, through the orange growing 
section, are numerous, indeed. The average tourist 
usually accepts these kind proffers of courtesy, 
although he knows full well that it is the hope of a 
real estate deal being made that prompts them. As 
mile after mile is traversed, the visitor marvels at 
the never-ending scenes of beauty that meet his eye. 
He sees the orange groves, the lemon groves, the wal- 
nut groves, vineyards that reach beyond his vision — 
he sees the luxurious vegetation and flowers. But if 
perchance, the guest should grow enthusiastic as to 
all that nature has done by reason of the climate, 
your guide will not forget to very promptly say to 
you : 

‘‘Yes, but look how man has transformed a great 
desert into a thing of beauty as well as the most pro- 
ductive land in the world, by furnishing it with 
water.’’ 

Theoretically the average citizen might begrudg- 
ingly admit that God had some little to do in furnish- 


274 IN THE LAND OF THE ANGELS 


ing the water for irrigation and other purposes, but 
after hearing the average booster talk, one would 
rather incline to the view that the Californian would 
come first in the “Hall of Fame,’’ if it were left to 
him to do the picture hanging on this subject. One 
never gets done hearing and reading that: 

“We spent forty million dollars in getting our 
drinking water two hundred miles from here by 
means of our acqueduct.” 

This is not said in a boastful way, either, but rather 
with the same sang froid with which he might speak 
of the most trifling accomplishment. He will speak 
of ^^developing^^ water just as if he really created it. 
To the new comer, this kind of “boosting” seems 
ludicrous, at first; but he would not be a citizen of 
more than three months, before he finds himself 
thinking, talking and writing in the same way. You 
cannot tell the difference between the native son and 
the year-old citizen. If the sunshine is not always up 
to the tourist’s expectation, there is always an oblig- 
ing citizen at your elbow, who anticipates your un- 
spoken comment, by telling you that the cloudy 
weather is “very unusual.” If it rains and you cannot 
get out of your hotel, by proprietor and bell boy, you 
are always informed of the rain being “unusual.” 
And so it goes. Everything that is pleasant and 
agreeable, is commonplace and to be expected; but if 
anything goes wrong it calls for the same comment, — 
“It is very unusual.” 

But, indeed, with greatest patriotism, energy and 
intelligence, the citizenship deserves all credit they 


IN THE LAND OF THE ANGELS 275 


claim, — for it is being made one of the greatest states 
of the republic. 

It was to this section that Mildred and George had 
come. Remaining in Los Angeles for a short time 
after their very long journey, a suitable cottage had 
been secured on the ocean side at a little resort about 
twenty miles from the city, where they had lived for 
more than three months. With the sea breeze salt 
infected, as it is, pure air and plenty of sunshrine — 
far removed from the scene of all of her troubles, the 
effect upon the unfortunate woman was most notice- 
able, and she began once more to look with some 
degree of philosophy upon conditions that surrounded 
her. She began to take a more active interest in pass- 
ing events. She realized that the change was most 
beneficial to her as well as to George, who had be- 
come a most enthusiastic patron of bathing sections of 
the beach. 

When Aldine alighted from the train at the station 
she found her mother and George, eagerly rushing to 
her side. She had wired her mother as to the time 
she would arrive and was anxiously expecting them. 
The faces of all radiated with the joy of being to- 
gether again. With the greetings and embraces of 
love that she received from mother and brother, she 
was made to feel and know, as she had always known, 
how deep and tenderly intense was the love that was 
bestowed upon her and as near as could be, there was 
happiness brought to all of the little family by her 
coming. 

Aldine was fortunate in receiving much of her 


276 IN THE LAND OF THE ANGELS 


mother’s beauty, with her dark hair and lustrously 
black eyes. Then, too, she had thatsame erect figure 
and carriage possessed by Mildred — and despite the 
years of suffering Mildred had undergone, the 
stranger would scarcely have taken them for mother 
and daughter, time having dealt so kindly, after all, 
with Mildred. 

After arranging for the forwarding of Aldine’s 
baggage, the trio were soon enabled to get a car tak- 
ing them directly to the cottage at the , beach 
where Mildred and George had been spending the 
summer. 

It was Aldine’s first view of the ocean; and as she 
stood for the first time looking at the surging waves 
of the sea breaking into the whitened surf as it 
sprayed the shore, she was transfixed wtih the awe, we. 
all feel on similar occasions. Fascinated into that 
most natural silence and admiration, the great and 
magnificent picture never fails to create on first sight, 
the beautiful girl stood with her arm around her 
mother looking into the boundless space beyond, 
where they saw the grandeur of the setting sun. 
SiFence reigned between the pair for several seconds. 
Aldine was the first to speak when she most seriously 
turned and said to Mildred: 

“Mother, how can any one behold the grandeur of 
the sea, in all of its magnitude, and not believe that 
there is a God?” 

In the days and weeks that followed the arrival of 
Aldine, many trips were taken through the country. 


IN THE LAND OF THE ANGELS 277 


to the nearby mountains and upon the ocean. It was 
all so refreshingly new and strangely beautiful that 
there was no limit to the great enjoyment afforded. 
There was a marvelous change for the better in the 
health of all and particularly did Aldine gladly notice 
the effect being produced upon her mother. She 
thought she could discern that she was yielding her- 
self to a change that brought smiles, and there could 
be no mistaking it, some of the great sorrow she knew 
her mother felt was being for the time forgotten, and 
at least lightened as time went on into days and 
weeks that passed by. 

Often had Aldine advised with her mother as to 
the proposal of Mr. St. John. As she had written, 
her mother in no way, sought to hinder or interfere 
with her daughter’s contemplated marriage. She had 
been satisfied from what Aldine had confided to her 
that he was a most worthy young man and of a most 
highly respected family and she felt assured that he 
would be a most devoted husband, just as he had been 
an admirer. 

Mildred, of course felt keenly the realization of 
the fact that so soon she would become permanently 
separated from her Aldine, and often the tears would 
come as she discussed the subject or even contem- 
plated it. 

Upon a given occasion, while they were seated 
upon a projecting rock at the ocean side looking out 
upon the ocean, mother and daughter had frankly 
and with great confidence, discussed the subject with 
much finality. Aldine had been feelingly expressing 


278 IN THE LAND OF THE ANGELS 


her regret that she must be separated from her 
mother, when Mildred replied to her by saying : 

“Yes, my dear child, your mother’s heart aches 
when she realizes that the time will come for us to 
part; but you must know that the love of the mother 
must find and make sacrifice upon the occasion of her 
daughter’s marriage. For after all, your happiness 
will become and always be mine. Every mother must 
undergo the same unhappy event sooner or later. 
And when I am so fondly hoping and expecting that 
you will be made a happy woman by your coming 
marriage, my own heart tells me that the fountain of 
your love will bring eventual pleasure and happy 
contentment to me.” 

“Dear mother!” Aldine exclaimed, as she nestled 
into her mother’s arms. “How much you love your 
Aldine! I know that you will suffer and be lonely 
when I am gone. And mother, how can I leave 
you?” 

With her head upon her mother’s breast she could 
not but realize her mother’s resulting solitude. Her 
mother replied to her after some moments, by gently 
saying : 

“Come, come, my sweet child, you must not feel 
that way. You must look forward to the happiness 
that will be mine, as well as yours, when you are 
bound to the one you love. It is love’s beautiful 
decree that you must follow your heart.” 

Hesitating, she continued with much feeling: 

“Darling Aldine, the greatest accomplishment and 
attainment of a good woman is the giving of her hand 


IN THE LAND OF THE ANGELS 279 


and heart to the one she loves, with the fidelity that 
time can never disturb. The womanly honor which 
she pledges must be unswerving and unassailable. 
Whatever may be the desolation of the moment or 
hour, the unchangeable woman and motherhood 
should never forget the duties she owes herself, her 
own and her God.” 

As she spoke, it was evident to Aldine that Mil- 
dred was most seriously and visibly affected by what 
she was saying, causing her to look up suddenly into 
her mother’s face. 

Just then, George came to them, and the mother 
and daughter arose from where they were sitting. 
Nothing more was said by either of them, thanks to 
the timely arrival of George. 

It was in after years that Aldine learned the sig- 
nificance of her mother’s words and tears. 

As they walked away from the cliffs, George was 
walking several feet in advance, holding a letter be- 
hind him without saying anything as to whom it was 
addressed or for. Aldine was observing his con- 
duct and hastily dashed forward to get the letter. 
George had playfully prepared for and anticipated 
her, and immediately broke and ran toward the high- 
way with Aldine pursuing him. As the brother and 
sister ran up the hillside she could hear the teasing 
and mocking laughter of the boy and the sister’s 
demands for the letter. Mildred paused and, for the 
moment, as she saw them reach the crest of the hill, 
her’s was the smile of love and her face was that of 


280 IN THE LAND OF THE ANGELS 


a woman whose heart pulsated in the fullness of her 
great devotion to her own. 

But even as she looked, a great change came over 
her countenance. She was thinking that within a few 
days they would both be separated from her. 

And what then? That was the mental query as she 
slowly took the direction of her children. She was 
contempalting what the future had in store for her, 
in what she knew would be the absoluteness of loneli- 
ness. 

When Mildred reached the cottage she found 
Aldine reading her letter from ‘‘Her red-headed 
sweetheart,’’ as George proclaimed. 

It was now about the middle of August, and prepa- 
rations were being made for the departure of Aldine 
and George for the East. 

Mildred had very readily assented to the desire of 
the father as to George attending some reputable uni- 
versity. Though her inclination, at first, prompted 
his attending some institution near her, she yet felt 
that there was justice in his going east, because she 
realized the uncertainty of her stay in Los Angeles. 
Then, too, she was familiar with the high standard 
held up at Ann Harbor, Mich., and she had selected 
this as the college George should attend. 

As she, day after day, in company with her chil- 
dren, made the numerous purchases for a young lady 
who was about to be married and with the many 
visits to the dressmaker, as well as procuring the 
neecssary equipment for George, great effort was re- 
quired that she could successfully conceal the real 


IN THE LAND OF THE ANGELS 281 


emotions that were constantly besieging her. Yet, 
with necessary courage, she kept down the heart and 
brushed away the tears, and entered upon the dis- 
charge of her duties as though it gave her the greatest 
pleausre. 

When the time came for their leave-taking, and 
when the trunks and other baggage had been checked, 
mother and children told each other fond farewells 
of love with many embraces. As they waved at 
the mother as the train slowly pulled out, they 
little knew the heaviness of the heart of the 
loving mother as she responded bravely to their last 
signals of dear good-byes, nor did they dream of all 
the future had in store for them or her in the events 
so soon to follow. 

The kaleidescope of fate, as It is gently jostled by 
the hand of time, holds in store the combination of 
circumstances which constituting events, make or 
unmake ourllves, seemingly without our having in- 
fluence upon that which takes place, in the slightest 
sense or degree. 

The principals of my story found that combination 
in the events of the concluding chapters. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE CHIME AND TOLL OF BELLS. 

LDINE and George had reached C., after a 
most enjoyable journey of five days and were 
more than welcomed by their father and his 
wife, as the train pulled into the station. 

After a rest of a day or so, they were entertained 
by him in proportion to his great love for them. 

Father and son appeared to be almost Inseparable, 
and Paul’s ambition to win the love of the boy was 
plainly evident. And in his efforts to do so, he was 
pleasingly successful. George had easily learned to 
love his father, from the very beginning. Many 
times he was prompted to learn the cause of his never 
having been able to see his father before the time of 
his coming to N., but he never spoke to him concern- 
ing the matter, and he remained in ignorance of the 
great cloud that had so signally hovered over his 
young life. While he felt and knew of their estrange- 
ment and separation when he was a mere child, his 
mother had never blamed his father to either of the 
children, and much less did she ever intimate the 
cause of their legal separation. Paul plied the boy 



THE CHIME AND TOLL OF BELLS 283 


with many most natural questions as to his mother, 
and he had gone much into detail as to his mother’s 
life in Los Angeles, but in all of their conversations 
the father very naturally refrained from any mention 
of their married life. 

After remaining in C. for about a week, George 
left one day for Ann Arbor to attend college, with 
the love of all, wishing him a successful and agree- 
able collegiate year. 

Plans and preparations for the coming marriage of 
Aldine to Mr. St. John in the latter part of the 
month, were now being made. He was a most fre- 
quent visitor during all this time. He had early 
indicated his wish for a wedding to be of a most pub- 
lic nature and was insistent upon such an arrange- 
ment, but Aldine had demurred to his prpoosal, be- 
cause of her mother’s advice upon the subject. At 
first, her father supported the contentions of the 
young man. He was so proud of her, that like Mr. 
St. John, he had favored the church wedding, but 
when he learned the cause of Aldine’s opposition, he 
very readily acquiesced in his daughter’s plans. 

In the meantime, the health of Mrs. Hanley had 
undergone a very decided change for the worse, and 
genuine alarm was being felt by Paul and Aldine. 
The attending physician was now a daily visitor, and 
though he had explained that there was nothing par- 
ticularly serious as to her condition, yet it was appar- 
ent that she was a very sick woman. She was always 
quick to assure her husband that she really was not 


284 THE CHIME AND TOLL OF BELLS 

seriously ill — and to insist that she did not require or 
need medical treatment, and when Aldine had sug- 
gested the wisdom of a postponement of the wedding 
she very promptly objected and insisted that no delay 
should take place as to the time which had been 
agreed upon. 

The good woman seemed to take a very great inter- 
est in the coming event, and became quite active in 
assisting Aldine with her necessary preparations. So 
helpfully attentive did she become, that for the time 
being she impressed even the doctor with her appar- 
ent improvement, as well as convincing Paul. 

So, with only a few Invited guests, there was a quiet 
wedding of the happy couple at Paul’s home. And 
on the evening of the same day bride and groom 
boarded a train for a somewhat extended bridal tour 
through the east, after the usually profuse felicita- 
tions of many well-wishing friends, who had learned 
of the marriage. 

Paul had lovingly watched the taking away of his 
daughter, and there were tears in his eyes as he 
heard the words of the minister. As he stood lis- 
tening to the sentences that joined the couple, his 
emotions emanated from not only the love he bore 
his daughter, but memory was taking him back to a 
similar occasion when he, too, had placed the wedding 
ring upon the finger of Aldine’s mother. He now 
recalled the plighted vows of that event, when he 
had walked down the aisle from the altar, with lovely 
Mildred upon his arm, as his wife ! But, as he went 
back in memory to that day, how he recalled the stain- 


THE CHIME AND TOLL OF BELLS 285 


ing of his own escutcheon ! How he had early for- 
gotten and blurred promise and vow, when this 
daughter was at the breast of the mother. How he 
afterwards had gone out into life to fight its battles 
with broken sword and promise ! 

One might easily have thought that it was the 
fatherly interest in the daughter that had brought the 
welling tears, but there was one at his side who read 
his very soul and who saw into his bleeding heart. 
His more than noble companion, his wife, knew that 
not all of his tears were for the daughter. 

Before leaving C., Aldine had not failed to send a 
short wire announcing her wedding and happiness to 
the mother in t he distant west. 

Upon the return of Paul and his wife to their home 
she had complained that she was not feeling as well 
as usual and the doctor had been summoned before 
they had retired. He had come and had given her 
some relief by means of tablets which he had her 
take. Afterwards she had gone to her room, appar- 
ently much relieved, leaving Paul and the doctor in 
the sitting room below. 

After leaving them in conversation, several min- 
utes elapsed as they sat alone. The doctor closed 
the door leading into the hall and drawing his chair 
close to Paul, said to him : 

“Mr. Hanley I do not wish to unnecessarily alarm 
you, but I think the time has come when I should be 
perfectly frank with you as to your wife’s condition. 
For quite a while I have been concerned about her. I 
had hoped for a change for the better and had 


286 THE CHIME AND TOLL OF BELLS 


resorted to every known treatment of her malady, 
awaiting expected results ; but now, I feel it my duty 
to tell you of the failure of all remedies.” 

“Do you mean to say, doctor,” Paul asked with 
great alarm, “that her condition is a threatening and 
dangerous one?” 

“Yes, I must tell you that your wife is afflicted with 
so serious a weakness of her heart that she can never 
recover. Her trouble is organic, and I fear nothing 
can be done. She may survive for many weeks, and 
she might live for a year, but she is gradually suc- 
cumbing to her ailment.” 

“But, doctor, is there no possible hope that you can 
give me? Is there not something that can be done?” 
asked Paul with trembling voice. 

“None, my good man. Rest and quietude may 
prolong her life, only for a short while. You must 
be prepared for the inevitable.” As the doctor 
spoke he had placed his hand upon Paul’s shoulder, 
whose head was now bent into his hands covering his 
face. 

Paul had thought for sometime that his wife’s ill- 
ness was of serious consequence, but had accepted 
the first assurance of the doctor that it was only tem- 
porary and that she would soon recover. He was 
not prepared for the announcement now made, which 
cast him into the greatest dejection. 

It was many hours after the doctor had gone, that 
Paul remained restlessly pacing back and forth in the 
library with his disconsolateness. Now and then he 


THE CHIME AND TOLL OF BELLS 287 


would give way to silent grief and then drop into a 
chair and would rest his head in his hands upon the 
library table. His suffering had become intense, and 
with both heart and mind at bay, in the great gulf of 
his gloomy solitude, he cried out: 

“Oh, God, have I not suffered enough? Is there 
no balm? No release from endless sorrow?’’ 

When finally, he noiselessly found his way up the 
stairway and to the bedside of his sleeping wife, he 
stood for a moment looking down into her face and 
then silently stole out of the room to his own bed of 
wakeful hours throughout the rest of the morning. 

When a consultation was held by the physicians 
during the week, there was but little encourage- 
ment held out to Paul as to his wife. In real- 
ity, the result was a verification of the opinion of his 
family physician. Both had agreed that there was no 
substantial relief to be had and that the duration of 
her life was entirely problematical. They had 
advised Paul that she must not be made aware of how 
critically ill she was and must be allowed but little 
exertion of any character. 

With his having been now thoroughly convinced of 
the impending fate that awaited his wife, Paul sum- 
moned all of his courage to avoid her appreciating 
the gravity of her illness. He had always been 
solicitously attentive to her throughout her ailment, 
and to conceal the added anxiety and depression that 
now became more pronounced as the days went by, he 
felt was a more than difficult task. 

He was not absent from her an hour at a time. 


288 THE CHIME AND TOLL OF BELLS 


Tenderly assisting her up and down the stairs, cau- 
tiously guarding against any unnecessary exertion, 
always at her side to hand her a book or to give her 
any attention she might require, his watchfulness 
could not fail to have been noticed by her. But she 
never at any time permitted him to think that she had 
thought his devotion more than usual. And, indeed, 
he had long before her health began to fail her, 
always been the courteous and kind husband that he 
now was. She had never had cause to complain of his 
treatment of her. But it was the greater anxiety so 
plainly depicted in his face and evidenced by his every 
act when near her, that made her readily discern his 
mental worry. She had, without difficulty divined 
the result of the doctors’ consultation. She reasoned 
that the failure upon the part of any one to impart the 
result of the conference, was the strongest of all evi- 
dence that she was considered to be in gravest peril. 

When November came, she had ceased, entirely, 
to leave her room. 

After consultation with the doctor he summoned 
Aldine by wire, who was then at Ashvllle, N. C., to 
come at once. 

When Aldine and her husband arrived, she sat up 
In bed and affected a liveliness of spirit, and with an 
expression of great love and affection, welcomed 
them. Indeed, their coming seemed to have a most 
marvelous effect upon her. And as Aldine daily sat 
near her with the tenderness of such genuine love as 
the dear girl bore her, there came into her eyes a look 
of satisfaction that bordered upon serenity. 


THE CHIME AND TOLL OF BELLS 289 


One afternoon, shortly after the arrival of Aldine, 
the nurse summoned Paul from the library, telling 
him that Mrs. Hanley wished him to come to her. 
When he reached the room, she indicated to the 
nurse that she wished to be alone with her husband. 
Paul had taken a seat by her side. 

“Paul,” she began, “my dear husband, I am soon 
to pass away. I have known for some time that” — - 
and here she paused as if from weakness — “I would 
never survive.” 

Paul now knelt at the beside, and as she had 
thus spoken, sought to restrain his wife and taking 
her hand in his, said: 

“No, no, do not — I beg of you, do not,” and the 
strong man here gave way to the emotion he had so 
long suppressed. For sometime he yielded himself 
without restraint. He leaned over and kissed her. 
He put his arms around her and raised her to him. 
He suffered, and was calmed only by the feeble 
woman as she lay back upon her pillow. Placing one 
hand upon his she began again to talk to him. 

“Dear Paul,” she said, “I know how your great 
heart has attempted to conceal from me my condi- 
tion. But I did not need to be told of it. I know 
now, that I am soon to be taken to my God. I am 
not afraid and am ready to die. But, strong and 
noble hearted man, I have some things to say to 
you before the curtain is drawn. I am feeling 
stronger, today, and felt that I could best speak now. 
Dear Paul, you have been all that any husband could 


290 THE CHIME AND TOLL OF BELLS 


ever have been. My thoughts of you as a noble, 
brave hearted man have grown into a conviction that 
could never be changed. My last heart beat shall 
be with my admiration and love for you. You have 
been kind and you have been just. And now, my 
dear husband, as I am about to face my Maker, I 
am going to appeal to your great sense of justice to 
do that which your dying wife requests and begs of 
you. I look back to the time when you took beauti- 
ful Mildred as your wife — the dear mother of Ald- 
ine. You know how pure and true she was when she 
became yours. You loved her then, and she loved 
you; and if you had been the faithful husband you 
have been to me, your’s would have been happy lives. 
But you went wrong first my dear, — and you killed 
her love for you. But Paul, I am not childing you. 
I know that time has taught you your own great 
wrong to her. You love her now, because you are 
just. I would love you less, if I thought you did 
not care for the poor girl out on the coast whose 
heart has suffered so. And now, my dear Paul, when 
I am gone I want you to go to her like the man you 
are, and offer again the love that has never died. Do 
it, Paul, for my sake. Promise me, Paul, dear Paul, 
you will do this for me — for me. Ask her to forgive 
you and forgive each other. Answer me, dear Paul, 
answer me !” 

As she had spoken the last words her voice had 
changed to almost a whisper. It wa^ evident that 
she was experiencing great excitement. 

Paul hastily called the nurse and Aldine who im- 


THE CHIME AND TOLL OF BELLS 291 


mediately came into the room. Paul raised her in 
his arms. He spoke to her saying : 

“Mary, dear Mary, look at me!” 

Her eyes opened and she attempted to put her 
hand to his face, but her arms fell upon his breast. 
Paul had bent over her. As he did so, she opened her 
eyes and he could faintly hear the one word : 

“Promise — ” 

In a moment more his wife was dead in his arms. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 

OME months had passed after the death of 
Paul’s wife. 

The lessening of the natural sorrows that 
oppress so heavily at the time of their infliction, is 
as a rule, the certain accomplishment of time’s inter- 
vention. There is a kindness emanating from God’s 
wisdom, that whatever may be the intensity of great- 
est grief by reason of the death of another, unas- 
suageable as it may seem, that finds its way as an 
accompaniment of time that not only lessens but 
makes disappear desolation and impenetrable gloom. 
Standing at the bedside of some near and dear one 
when the uninviting and cheerless future seems to 
drape itself with the borders of sorrow, the human 
mind is prone to forsake all hope and surrender as a 
victim to the throes of despair. But as the finger of 
time slowly traverses the dial of the days that follow, 
the graciousness of the gift of hope will open the win- 
dow through which comes the gradual rays of sun- 
shine of freshened inspiration. What may seem to 
be the visitations of the troubles and afflictions from 
God, over which we have no control, wear away 



FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


293 


with the coming of time, with the gentleness of His 
tender mercies. 

But the woes of our own creation live and flourish 
in memory and thrive with brooding, oft times, 
throughout the long lives that we live. The self 
imposed burdens that result from indiscretion become 
and remain heavy as does the quickening of conscience 
unerringly draw its indictment for the sins we commit. 
Self inflicted wounds that are the results of our own 
conduct, are the ones that linger longest, and that are 
the most difficult to heal. 

When Paul was overwhelmed on account of the 
loss of his wife, it had seemed to him that his sor- 
row would be endless. With full recogntion of 
the unquestionable fact that throughout the years 
of their married life, her influence over him was 
so vastly beneficial in bringing about a strong refor- 
mation of himself; appreciating the more than splen- 
did womanly qualities and graces which she possessed 
and realizing also, the unbounded love which her 
heart had always given him, he keenly and genuinely 
mourned her death. He had become a solemn and 
serious faced man, taking but little interest in passing 
events and being much given to solitude. Removed 
very largely from the companionship of former 
friends, his dejection and loneliness were ever pres- 
ent. Yet, with the passing of months, the dark 
cloud, hovering over him by reason of his great 
loss, began to gradually lift, just as the law of nature 
and reason compel. But as time’s healing hand began 
to disseminate the one, there appeared upon his men- 


294 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


tal horizon another cloud which had merely been 
displaced for the time being. There came to him, 
now, thoughts of his past life and of the great dark- 
ened chasm which the faults of his young manhood 
had created that ever made real happiness, an im- 
possibility True, indeed, it was, that he had his 
children for whom his labor of love should grow in 
plans for their happiness ; and yet as he contemplated 
for and thought of them, he felt his heart twinge 
with pain, when he realized how cruelly he had 
wronged his own brave boy! Ah, indeed, had he 
not the more than herculean task of making adequate 
reparation to George, for what injury he had inflicted 
upon him I 

There came, too, recollections that pushed them- 
selves upon him with haunting and spectre like effect, 
when he would be taken back into memory of his 
straying from the mother of his children. He began 
to have visions of the happiness he had imagined 
was his as he saw Aldine in the arms of Mildred — 
when he knew she was the devoted wife and mother. 
He mentally witnessed the tragedy of years of separ- 
ation from his children, when they were entitled to a 
father as well as a mother. Reproaching himself 
with the erring life he had led while happiness 
reigned at his home and fireside, he was now asking 
himself many questions. But he could not bring 
himself to believe or reason that the mother of his 
children could ever have had the right or excuse to 
have been other than the chaste and undefiled. 

Try as he did to avoid the infallible memories that 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


295 


came crowding themselves upon him, he could not do 
so. He admitted his own great wrong as the first — 
but to forgive that which brought the stigma of 
shame, disgrace, and dishonor by reason of the fall 
of Mildred? No, he never could. He never would. 

Reviewing as he thought, all of the events of his 
unhappiness, he invariably found the same conclusion, 
as he fought with the contending emotions uppermost 
in his mind. 

Busying himself with the fortune his wife had left 
him and in putting into proper shape his property 
interests, Paul had much to occupy his mind. He 
was now the possessor of nearly a million dollars in 
property of various kinds in his state as well as 
interests in a large sugar cane plantation in Cuba. He 
devoted nearly all of his time to his business affairs 
and was glad that his time and mind could be so 
wholly occupied. 

Paul had not forgotten the many charities created 
and kept alive by his wife; but took an active and 
keen interest in their continuance. In this, he was 
assisted by Aldine, who with endearing kindness to 
the poor, was of invaluable service to her father. 

Immediately following the death of Mrs. Hanley, 
Aldine had written her mother the details of her 
death and she had written in reply expressing her 
regrets because of her death and not failing to ex- 
press herself as to what a noble woman she must have 
been. She had made no mention of her mother’s 
letters to her father, at the time, although he had 
subsequently asked about her. She had kept up a 


296 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


regular correspondence with her mother and George 
and many times had expressed a great longing to be 
with her again. 

Aldine’s husband being possessed of considerable 
means himself had, together with her father bought 
some very valuable mining property in a nearby 
county and was very busily engaged in a development 
of it and therefore, necessarily absent from her much 
of the time. But she was almost constantly with Paul 
during his absence. She was a great consolation to 
him in her great love and they found themselves to 
be a most affectionate father and daughter. Watch- 
ing over the household affairs for him, she had deter- 
mined to bring as much of cheer to her father as 
possible, because for months she had noticed his great 
despondency, many times hearing him restlessly walk- 
ing back and forth down in the library long after 
midnight. She was not slow to note her father’s 
mental worry. At first, she very naturally and prop- 
erly attributed it to the death of his wife, but as time 
wore on, she could see that there was some other 
cause of his great restlessness at night. On one occa- 
sion, she had thrown herself into his lap and with 
loving caress had boldly asked: 

“Good and dear father, I want you to take your 
Aldine into your confidence and tell her why you are 
so much worried of late. Now, won’t you, please do 
so, father?” 

“Why, my dear girl,” he replied, “do you not think 
your father has undergone sufficient sorrow to make 
him worry?” 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


297 


“Yes, father, but it is only recently that you seem 
to be worried more than ever. You are too sensible 
to let grief grow upon you, although I know you lost 
one of the dearest women on earth.” 

Aldine was looking up into her father’s face, look- 
ing for some evidence of his more recent troubles. 
Tactfully evasive as he was, he never disabused her 
mind of the impression she had. 

“Come Aldine,” he replied, “it is growing late and 
time for you to be in bed. Your father loves you too 
well to tell you all of his worries. But some day 
you may know.” 

Even though she felt that her father was taking 
that method of dismissing the subject, and keenly 
felt disappointed, she did not pursue theconversation 
further, and reluctantly though fondly kissed him a 
good night. As a verification of her own conjectures, 
she had heard her father up and walking down 
stairs, long after midnight, after she had left him. 
She felt some resentment that her father had refused 
her his confidence, and wondered with much curiosity 
as to what so seriously engaged her father’s mind. 

One evening, not long afterwards, returning home 
Paul found Aldine sitting in the library with a letter 
in her hand which she had been reading and it was 
plain to him that she was very much perturbed 
and that she bore evidence of weeping. Going to 
her, he took her in his arms and tenderly said to her : 

“Why, what is it that ails my brave little girl? 
You have been shedding tears, Aldine. Tell your 
father what is the trouble.” 


298 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


Releasing herself from her father’s embrace, she 
did not keep back the tears, that came and with a 
sob, she said: 

“Oh, dear father, you cannot know how unhappy 
your Aldine is. I have just received a letter from 
my poor, dear mother. I cannot understand 
it. How sad and unhappy she must be ! Read it, 
father, for you must help me to find her.” 

As she concluded, she handed the letter to Paul, 
who read the following : 

“Los Angeles, Calif., May 8, 19 — . 
“My darling Aldine : 

“By the time you will have received this letter, I 
will be gone from here. 

“My dear child, your mother’s heart aches and 
comes near breaking as she writes that which she 
knows may both surprise and pain you. But, my 
dear girl, though, you, more than any one have 
known of my saddened and unhappy life, you have 
never been taken into my heart and told of all the 
suffering and sorrow I have undergone. If I had 
ever esayed to do so, I could never have depicted it, 
but slightly, so great has it been in intensity — and I 
shudder, as I pray with a bleeding heart, that your 
own souljnay not suffer, as has mine. 

“Long ago, I have given up all hope of any possi- 
ble happiness. I can see for myself, no future but 
that of everlasting sorrow. There is not one ray of 
sunshine left for your poor mother, whose tortures 
have been never ending. How often have I turned to 
the One against whom I have sinned, and with a con- 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


299 


trite heart, pled for placation and forgiveness of my 
desolate and sinning soul. I have begged that He 
might show me the way and give me back some of 
the peace my soul would crave. But, dear girl, some 
of our sins are so deep that I feel that my yoke must 
be worn throughout life. That I merit all of my 
sorrow, I shall never deny. 

‘T shall offer, in my feeble way, a pennance. I 
can do no more. While I need not tell you what I 
shall engage in, it is sufficient that I say to you, 
my loved one, that I shall consecrate the rest of my 
life in employment that will assist in the relief of suf- 
fering. I leave here tonight, and as a member of 
the Red Cross, shall become a nurse. 

“Do not grieve for me, too much. I shall always 
be kept conversant with the affairs of both you and 
George. And if your mother is ever really needed, 
she will appear. 

“I have written to George, just as I do to you, 
asking him that he will forgive, as I ask you, if I am 
doing you an injustice. Above all, keep your dear 
heart warm and beating for your 

“Mother.” 

As Aldine sat looking through her tears as her 
father read her mother’s letter, she could see various 
emotions come and go over his troubled countenance. 
At times she fancied she could see him shrink, as if 
dodging, and wince, as if receiving severe blows. 
She was sure that she saw intense sadness. But, 
when he had finished, he merely handed her the 
letter, saying: 


300 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


“Yes, Aldlne, this is sad news for you. But your 
mother can, no doubt, be found.” 

His voice and manner really indicated no great 
interest, certainly not that which she expected. But 
if there were reserve or pretense of it, by the father, 
there was none by the daughter. With feeling and 
much spirit and some resentment, her great love for 
her mother never hesitated. She stood before Paul 
in all her young and beautiful womanhood not the 
girl any more, but with the full maturity of both mind 
and body, whose face, eyes and words bespoke the 
real loyalty of a love that halts and then challenges 
the attention and admiration of the strongest. With 
beautiful animation, she put her hand upon her 
father’s arm and said: 

“Yes, father, there is no doubt that she can be 
found, and there is no doubt but that she will be 
found, and there is no doubt but that my dear father 
will find her. 

“You need not tell me, why you have been suffering 
so much of late. You cannot hide from me that 
which I have always known. You love my mother, 
I know now there must have been some dreadful 
sorrow that arose between you. I have never learned 
it, nor have I ever sought to do so. I have been con- 
tent to know that I have loved you both. But, what- 
ever it was that saddened your lives I know that my 
dear mother was not all to blame. If I hurt the 
heart of my dear, kind, and noble-hearted father, in 
saying as much, you must know she is my mother — 
I have nursed at her breast as a babe — I have looked 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


301 


Into that kindly and noble face of hers since I have 
become a woman, and I know that my mother is an 
angel of a woman. And my dear father, whatever 
the barrier, are you sure you were blameless? For- 
give me, forgive me If I should wound you ! But do 
you not see that I love her?” 

“My dear child, you do not understand what you 


He was not permitted to finish any reply, before 
the strong girl, before him, said: 

“Yes, but I do understand. I know that my father 
will go to my mother. I know that he will hunt for 
her until he finds her, for my sake and George’s sake. 
And, dear father, I feel that there is some false pride 
or unjust reason that prevents you from going to her 
and telling her that you forgive her and asking her 
to forgive you. If the noblest man on earth will not 
find her, Aldine, who loves her, 

Great effort was being made by Paul to control 
himself. He both appreciated and admired the atti- 
tude of Aldine and much that she had said, had cut 
Into his very heart. Caressing her with loving hand 
he spoke to her in that kindly manner, his affection 
prompted : 

“My precious child, you must listen to your father. 
You do not know, though some day you will, nor can 
I tell you now, of the cause of the sorrow that has 
never been removed as to your mother and myself and 
we will not and cannot discuss it. But, Aldine, your 
father promises that for your sake, he will find your 
mother and that, too, at once. Dear one, you know 


302 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


that I have always adored you and, now I want you to 
have confidence in the justice of your father. Let 
him think over many things before he speaks further 
upon this subject, and perhaps, he might be able to 
tell you something that can be done by the coming of 
the morning. So dear child, go to your rest, and 
leave me to my own thoughts for the night.” 

They affectionately separated, she going to her 
room and to bed while he remained in the library. 

Paul Hanley bravely wrestled as he had many 
times before, with the one great question ever pur- 
suing him, throughout the long hours of the night. 
His memory took him, unfailingly, to the scenes of 
his first love. He traversed every avenue of his and 
Mildred’s happiness and he did not spare himself, as 
he mercilessly lashed himself with punishment for 
having first destroyed the picture of happiness so 
ineffaceably impressed upon his heart and mind. Now, 
with Aldine’s words ringing in his ears as well as the 
last request of his faithful wife, he asked himself the 
question, if after all, the following of hsi own sense 
of obligations and duty toward Mildred would have 
avoided all his now great unhappiness. He could not 
escape the result of applying his sense of justice. He 
knew that he had struck the first blow. What was his 
duty? His duty to Mildred — to his and her cliildren 
and to himself? He dared not deny that which the 
proud girl had made to sink deep down into his heart. 

But as he thought over and over in his mind the 
various and sad phases of all that confronted him — 
with the precedent of the world, with all of its 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


303 


cruelties, that scorn which would await him with the 
never finished sneers it provides as against the woman 
who had thus sinned and against the man who would 
reclaim her, he faltered. He felt the battle raging 
in his mind, was now making his heart stand against 
what the world might say. He feared for her sake 
and his own — and was wondering if he had the cour- 
age to face the world with that bravery necessary to 
take up the broken threads of life where they had 
been left off and successfully begin anew. 

He saw the first grey streaks of dawn, as he strug- 
gled in the meshes of indecision. As he sat with the 
coming of the morning he fought on with wearied 
body and soul. With drooping eyelids, when slumber 
assailed, he heard the first faint note and call of some 
song bird that had been aroused by the silent 
coming of the day. Then, too he heard the answer- 
ing reply of another, and still another, until hundreds 
of little throats were responding to the call for the 
morning song and chorus as they greeted the coming 
of the morning sun, that so soon afterward, streamed 
into the library through the east window. Sitting 
there and alone, he began to interpret the music which 
fell upon his ears. It all seemed to be for his own 
heart. As he listened, he felt the peacefulness of the 
hour. He thought he could hear the carroling of joys 
and happiness as the messages of good will to the 
world. He felt the touches of Nature’s peace-fin- 
gered hand — of kindness and of the love that came 
from Him. Perched on the branch of a tree near 
the window, he could see a bird and his mate. The 


304 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


one seemed to smg his song of love to the other. 
Suddenly, there came, the great yearning — the per- 
sistent longing — the heartache and cry of his revived 
and mighty love for Mildred. 

He sprang to his feet. His eyes shone with the 
zeal of a newly born influence. The battle was over. 
Aldine’s words had turned the tide and she had won 
for him. He hastily ascended the stairway and made 
directly to the bedside of the beautiful girl as she 
peacefully slept through the morning hours. 

As he reached her side, she awoke and looked into 
his face. 

“Why father!” she startlingly cried. 

Her father reached down and taking her into his 
strong arms, and with his face radiating with joy and 
happiness, answered her look of surprise by saying 
to her : 

“Aldine, I have concluded to hunt for your mother 
— but for my own sake, first 

That was all that he said. He could not have said 
more if he had tried. They both understood. 
Locked in each other’s arms, there were tears of joy 
for some minutes before a word was spoken. 

Before Paul arose from his own bed, many hours 
afterwards he fancied he could hear the birds sing- 
ing out in the trees, again; but as he listened, he 
found he was mistaken. 

He had heard the voice of Aldine as she was sing- 
ing the happy hours away. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE LONG SEARCH. 

EAVING Aldine at C. with greatest confid- 
ence as to his ability to soon ascertain the 
whereabouts of her mother, Paul immediately 
had prepared for a journey to California. Before he 
departed from C., however, he had wired authority 
to a detective agency at Los Angeles to make all 
investigations necessary for the purpose of locating 
her. He had received a response to one of his mes- 
sages before he had left C. informing him that there 
was no trace to be had as to Mildred other than that 
she was last seen at Los Angeles on the day that 
Aldine’s letter had been mailed by her. He was 
utterly at a loss to know or form any definite plan 
as to how the search should be prosecuted. Without 
knowing why, however, he found himself racing 
across the continent, indulging in the hope that some- 
thing might be learned at her former home as to 
where she had gone. 

Upon his arrival at Los Angeles and upon the 
occasion of an early visit to the detective agency he 
had employed, he was much disappointed that there 
was not some clue that had been found that would 
lead to the knowledge useful in his undertaking. 



306 


THE LONG SEARCH 


Inquiry had been made of the post office authorities 
to ascertain, if possible, any address to which her 
mail should be delivered, but whether or not it was 
contrary to the postal regulations to give out such 
information, no satisfaction was obtained from that 
source. Neighbors, as well as the landlord who had 
rented the furnished cottage, were unable to shed any 
light upon Mildred’s disappearance. All Red Cross 
societies appealed to, were equally disappointing, 
there having been no person of her name that had 
either joined or had in any way been connected with 
the organization. 

After several days of persistent search, without 
results, through information secured at the railway 
ticket office, it was learned that a through ticket and 
pullman berth to New Orleans had been secured by a 
lady answering the description of Mildred, and had 
been used on the date of the letter that had been 
written to Aldine. Upon learning as much, Paul at 
once started for New Orleans. 

While on a pullman, en route, over the Southern 
Pacific Railroad, Paul had engaged the porter in con- 
versation seeking any knowledge he might gain of 
Mildred. He was agreeably surprised to learn that 
there could be no doubt as to her having taken pas- 
sage at the time he had surmised. The porter had 
been upon that train to New Orleans. The descrip- 
tion given was so accurate in every detail that there 
could be no mistaking that he was upon the right 
track, when the porter, concluded his description by 
saying: 


THE LONG SEARCH 


307 


“Boss, she was a fine looking lady; but she was jest 
so quiet like, she neveh talked to nobody — jes seemed 
to be looking out de window, all de time!” 

Upon reaching New Orleans four days afterwards, 
Paul, at once placed the search in the hands of a most 
reliable agency and repeated, substantially, efforts 
made at Los Angeles. 

In the meantime, he wired Aldine of having traced 

her mother to that city, giving his address at H 

hotel while there. 

Upon his return to his hotel that night, after un- 
availing efforts during the day, he received a telegram 
from Aldine, surprising him with the information 
that a letter had been received from her mother, 
postmarked at C. At first, Paul was puzzled upon 
learning this fact, but he felt assured that Mildred 
would not have gone to C. Upon the contrary, he 
knew that she was bent upon avoiding not only that 
section, but every one who might be there. Accord- 
ingly, he quickly reasoned that some one at C. must 
have been in correspondence with Aldine’s mother 
and had evidently mailed the letter there under the 
directions of the writer. Without conclusion, he 
had debated in his mind as to who might be her con- 
fidant, but of the correctness of the assumption as to 
how the letter had been mailed, there was no doubt. 
There surely was someone who knew of Mildred’s 
whereabouts as well as her intentions as to the im- 
mediate future. But to learn the identity of her 
friend at C. was a more than difficult task. The 
operatives he had employed were of the opinion that 


308 


THE LONG SEARCH 


the letter might be of some assistance and Aldine, 
therefore sent the same to her father at once upon his 
urgent request 

When the letter came to Paul he found that there 
was no hint nor intimation of any kind as to plans or 
whereabouts. It was a letter replete with a mother’s 
love and written with an evidently studied effort to 
conceal any information that might lead to her 
location. 

The most thorough and complete search was made 
throughout the city for any evidence or information 
as to Mildred’s location or the direction she had 
taken. The cleverest men to be had worked untir- 
ingly, but nothing was elicited. 

Similar inquiries were caused to be prosecuted in 
every city of any prominence throughout the South. 
A full description was sent as to Mildred to every 
hospital in all of these cities and particularly an 
enlistment of the services of the Red Cross Societies 
was had. 

Though, Paul was, at first encouraged to believe 
and hope that only a few days would be necessary in 
order that his efforts would be successful, yet as days 
and finally weeks had passed with no news of the 
missing mother, disappointment began to be keenly 
felt by both Aldine and her father. 

There began to be felt by Paul, the impression of 
the reality of effort upon the part of Mildred, to hide 
herself completely from the world. The realization 
of this became oppressive and he grew restive under 
the influnce of such a conviction. 


THE LONG SEARCH 


309 


In his own mind, he began to speculate as to the 
cause of her disappearance. That she could possi- 
bly be actuated by any desire to be permanently 
separated from her children, was entirely unreason- 
able. Why, the necessity or cause for the step that 
had been taken by her? He had learned long before 
how pained Mildred had been when absent from 
either of them. There was not only no inclination to 
have them away from her, but the contrary had 
always been true. 

Was there any difference in conditions, now, as 
compared to then? 

Yes! It suddenly came to him that there was. 

Death had been the grim reaper that had made 
both of them free again. 

He shuddered as the only reason that he could 
assign as the cause of her deliberate disappearance. 

There could be but one reason. She was secreting 
herself from him. Why? Why? He asked him- 
self this one question time and time again. The con- 
viction began to force itself upon his unwilling mind 
that she should not be found by him. 

There was, however, an added zeal to his con- 
tinued and renewed efforts to find her. His every 
energy and resource were employed. 

He had unsuccessfully, undertaken to ascertain the 
identity of the person who had almost regularly 
mailed letters written by the mother of Aldine. But 
the friend in whom such confidence had been placed 
had remained true and loyal and there was nothing 
learned in that direction. 


310 


THE LONG SEARCH 


Some nine months had gone by, without a word of 
information of Mildred, except the mysterious re- 
ceipt, somewhat regularly, of letters which Aldine 
continued to receive. 

Paul had to a very great extent neglected his im- 
mense business affairs for sometime and though by 
no means abandoning the search, had yielded to the 
necessity of turning his attention to matters of great 
importance. 

Among other things, urgent demands had often 
been made by his representative in Cuba to personally 
visit the sugar cane plantation not far from Havana, 
because of extensive improvements needed there. 
Paul had determined to make a trip for the purpose 
of personally making an inspection of his interests 
there. 

In the latter part of April, he left C. with that 
purpose in view, assuring Aldine of his early return. 
He had made the journey as far as to a point in 
Florida and had stopped at F. from which small 
steamers made daily trips to and from Havana. 

Passage upon the “Idlewild” had been taken by 
him early one morning and he expected to reach 
Havana by the evening of the same day. An un- 
eventful voyage throughout the day had been made, 
and there was much enjoyment had by Paul, as he 
comfortably sat out upon the upper deck breathing 
the pure air of the balmy spring weather. In the dis- 
tance he could see Havana as the little ship plowed 
her way through the placid waters of the Atlantic. 
He and many other passengers were observing with 


THE LONG SEARCH 


311 


great interest the outlines of the old Spanish city and 
they had now reached a point about four miles from 
the inner harbor. 

Suddenly and without any warning whatever, there 
came a terrific explosion from the engine room of the 
steamer. One of her boilers had for some inexplica- 
ble reason exploded, almost splitting the little vessel 
in twain. There was no opportunity for escape nor 
for rescue of any one. It was one of those strange 
and unaccountable disasters at sea that completely 
renders humanity so helpless and death so easy upon 
the ocean’s waves. In an instant after the explosion, 
human beings and wreckage of the destroyed ship, 
were thrown into the ocean by reason of the demoli- 
tion that so rapidly had taken place. Many of the 
crew upon the lower deck were instantly killed. 
Many of the passengers were killed and injured by 
the falling timbers and parts of the ship. In less time 
than that required for the noise of the explosion to 
have subsided, most of the passengers were swim- 
ming near parts of the ill fated vessel and attempting 
to save themselves by clinging to the shattered rem- 
nants of floating wreckage near by. 

Fortunately, an outer harbor tug which happened 
to be near by, rapidly steamed to the scene of the 
disaster and gave immediate assistance to the strug- 
gling mass of swimming humanity to be seen upon the 
crest of the rolling waves. There was a rescue of a 
very large number. 

Death had claimed the lives of more than a dozen 


312 


THE LONG SEARCH 


of the passengers, there being a large number who 
were seriously wounded. 

Among others, who were taken aboard the tug 
from the sea, was Paul Hanley. When rescued he 
was unconsciously clinging to a piece of gunwale 
which had in some manner been torn loose when the 
explosion and wreckage of the ship came. There 
was no time for treatment of the injuries of any one. 
The tug in a very few minutes had steamed into the 
harbor and the wounded were rapidly taken to the 
nearest hospital and the dead to the most convenient 
morgue. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

FOUND AND LOST. 

AUL HANLEY had been immediately con- 
veyed to the American Marine Hospital in 
Havana, when taken from the tug that had 
rescued him. 

Upon examination being made it was at once deter- 
mined by the surgeon in charge that his injuries were 
of a most serious and probably fatal character. His 
skull had been crushed to such an obvious extent, in 
some manner, that the most delicate of operations, 
trephining, was the only possible means by which 
life could be preserved. With his skull crushed and 
much of it resting and pushing against the brain, the 
unfortunate man, to be sure, was unconsciously moan- 
ing with his physical pain and suffering. 

Thanks to the great advancement and skill of 
modern surgery, its marvelous feats have frequently 
stepped between life and death, by means of the 
operation performed upon Paul, so that the skill of 
now, as compared with the past, is one of the great- 
est of attainments in that most noted profession. 
The removal of the broken skull from off the brain 
and substitution of the silver plate had taken place. 



314 


FOUND AND LOST 


The patient had undergone the operation and was 
being taken care of by the nurses assigned to the 
unconscious man. 

Unfortunately, there was nothing found upon the 
clothing of Paul by which his identity could be ascer- 
tained. Beyond the knowledge that he was evidently 
an American, there was nothing to be gleaned. He 
was possessed of some considerable money which 
was found upon him, which guaranteed the good 
treatment his condition required. 

As the days passed, the strong vigor of good 
health together with the very superior skill of the 
surgeons in charge, had brought returning conscious- 
ness to Paul — and there was every reasonable assur- 
ance that he would recover. It so happened that for 
the first time that memory came to him, one of the 
surgeons was at his bedside. His mind was per- 
fectly clear and he readily recalled the suddenness 
of the explosion upon the steamer, but had no recol- 
lection as to how he had been injured. Upon being 
told that it would be only a short time until his 
recovery, he had insisted that no information should 
be given to Aldine or any one as to his injuries at 
that time. He was cautioned by the physician as to 
the necessity of quietude and much rest, and the 
doctor had just left his patient when he met the nurse 
in charge. 

The door had been closed and he was giving the 
Information of recovered mentality to the nurse, as 
they were standing in the hallway. 

“Well, doctor, do you think that the patient will 


FOUND AND LOST 


315 


recover?” the nurse interrogated, with what the 
doctor considered as unusual interest. 

“Yes, I am sure that he will soon be a well man. 
And I want to say that the remarkable attention 
which you have given this patient is entitled to reward 
from him, and I shall most certainly speak to him 
about it,” replied and added the doctor. 

“No, doctor, I beg of you not to do so. I have 
only done my duty,” she said to him as he was 
leaving. 

The nurse now noiselessly opened the door leading 
into the room of the patient. She found he had his 
head averted as was required and that he had fallen 
into slumber again. The shades were down and the 
room darkened, so that there was but a small shaded 
globe of electric light in the room. It was so shaded 
that but little could be seen by Paul, under the direc- 
tion of the doctor. 

The nurse had taken her accustomed seat near the 
bedside and perfect quiet reigned in the room and 
nothing could be heard but the deep breathing of 
Paul. 

Though he was apparently enjoying peaceful 
slumber, now and then he seemed to grow restless 
and finally awoke. As he stirred the nurse silently 
stepped to his side and placing her hand upon his 
forehead gently stroked it. Realizing the touch of 
a woman’s hand, he asked: 

“Oh, you are my nurse?” 

As he spoke, he attempted to turn his head in her 


316 


FOUND AND LOST 


direction. Seeing his intention, she at once said to 
him, in almost a whisper : 

“No, you must not turn your head. The doctor 
insists you must not do so,” she said at once to him, 
and upon her insistence he made no further effort. 

“But, will you please give me a drink of water?” 
he asked of her. 

His nurse quickly brought him a glass of water 
and was holding it to his lips while she carefully 
raised his head. He had drank the water and she 
had gently restored him to his pillow. As she did so 
he was enabled to see the face of his nurse. 

“Mildred! My Mildred!” the afflicted man sud- 
denly cried. 

And, Indeed, it was the one whom he had so long 
sought, the object of his heart’s greatest desire. 

Mildred had known that this moment must inevita- 
bly arrive and she had seriously debated in her mind 
if she should remain for its happening. But she 
never knew positively until this day that the wounded 
man would recover — and when being so informed 
by the doctor, she had but a moment of time after 
leaving him to determine what course she should 
pursue. She had determined, that since but a few 
hours remained until she would be relieved by an- 
other nurse, that she would risk his learning her 
identity during the short time and afterwards leave 
Paul in ignorance as to who she was. 

As it was, she had failed, and she stood looking 
down Into Paul’s face. 

“Paul — dear Paul, yes, it is Mildred. But you 


FOUND AND LOST 


317 


must be quiet. If you suffer yourself to become ex- 
cited, it will injure your chances of recovery.” 

Before speaking, she had taken hold of his out- 
stretched hands, seating herself upon the side of the 
bed. She had tried to hide any emotion she might 
feel, but as she held his hands in hers, and looked 
into his face, there were tears in his as well as in her 
eyes. 

There was now a long silence between them. 
Neither saw fit to speak. They looked long and 
searchingly into each other’s very souls. 

Mildred felt the gentleness of the pull of both of 
Paul’s hands. In the weakness of his body, but with 
the strength of his heart, he was attempting to draw 
her to him. She did not resist, but divining his wish, 
slowly bent over him until their lips met, and lingered 
with the love that was now being renewed. 

When Mildred withdrew from the side of Paul, 
she knew, and Paul saw, there was love’s impress 
as the surging color came to her cheeks. The hap- 
piness that asserted itself upon his own countenance 
and which beamed through his very eyes, had made 
a new and joyous Paul. 

“My Mildred, how I have, for months, hunted for 
you ! And now, I have found you ! How happy, 
how happy, I am!” he cried to her with his great 
elation. 

“But, Paul, you should not have sought to have 
found me,” she replied. “Our lives and ways must 
lie far apart.” 


318 


FOUND AND LOST 


Suddenly observing the time, she continued before 
he had an opportunity to reply : 

“The relief nurse is due and will be here shortly. 
Now, Paul, I will be with you tomorrow. So I want 
you to rest and sleep well tonight. You must get well 
and you can only do so by obeying the orders of the 
doctor,” she said. 

And it was just at this juncture that another nurse 
quickly entered the door, which prevented any fur- 
ther conversation between them. 

After a short conversation with the new nurse, 
in the presence of the patient, in which her relief 
expressed great pleasure over the improvement of 
their charge, Mildred quietly withdrew from the 
room being followed by the eyes of Paul as she 
passed through the door. 

Upon her return to Paul’s bedside the following 
day, Mildred saw every evidence of rapid improve- 
ment of her patient. The doctor was present when 
she entered. Paul had been permitted the services of 
the barber and his face presented a great change in 
every way. He was already asking the doctor how 
many more days he would be confined to his bed and 
was in a decidedly cheerful frame of mind. 

“Well, not very many. But if I had the good for- 
tune that you have had to have been nursed so faith- 
fully as you have been by Mrs. Caldwell, I would 
not be in a great hurry to get out !” replied the doctor 
as he smiled at his bit of pleasantry. He little knew 
how ardently his patient sanctioned what he had 


FOUND AND LOST 


319 


said, but if he had looked into his eyes at this 
moment, he might have found ready approval. 

Paul was quick to notice that Mildred bore evi- 
dence of but little sleep, and commented upon 
the same. She did not offer any denial, but rather 
admitted it. He could see what he believed to be the 
signs of worry as though she was troubled in mind 
about something. 

And he was not wrong in his conjecture, as he 
afterwards learned. 

Dwelling upon a topic of conversation interesting 
to both — their children — they found much to say to 
each other, she asking in detail and he answering in 
kind. He had told her with great pride of Aldine’s 
husband and of the progress of George at school. 

It was while he was speaking of Aldine with the 
fondness of his love for her, that he was enabled to 
introduce a subject of conversation, that he was 
anxiously wishing for and that she had feared, and 
wished to avoid. 

“Yes, Mildred, dear brave Aldine has become a 
woman now, and needs the same thing which her 
father wishes to make her happy. And that is you, 
— Mildred. My every minute from now on, will be 
of impetuous anxiety to get well, so that I may again 
claim the mother of my children !” 

As Paul spoke, he saw Mildred’s countenance 
change as if she were suffering great pain and when 
she replied to him he found a verification of his 
observation. 

“Please, Paul, I beg of you, do not add to my great 


320 


FOUND AND LOST 


unhappiness by speaking again that way to me. I 
propose being frank with you.” 

As she spoke, she sat by his side and took one of his 
hands in both of her’s. Continuing, as she gently 
pressed his hand she said: 

“I hope you will never say again, what you have 
just said. I spent a sleepless night thinking over how 
wrong it was for me to have remained here after you 
were brought here. But I could not leave you when 
your condition was so seriously dangerous. Yet when 
the doctor assured me that you would recover, I 
should never have come back. You must be perfectly 
quiet, in order that you may rapidly recover.” 

Several times during the day, he made attempts 
to talk with her upon the subject of his love for her, 
but invariably he would be admonished into silence 
in the same manner. Indeed, his condition should 
not have permitted of any extended conversation 
upon any subject. Mildred was tenderly attentive 
to him throughout the day, sitting by his side holding 
his hand, which he would not let her remove, though 
he at intervals, dozed into short periods of slumber. 

When the time came for her to be relieved, she 
had leaned over him and fondly kissed him good bye. 

On the following morning the doctor came early 
into the room and, after an examination of Paul, sat 
down by his bedside. 

“Mr. Hanley, your nurse for some reason, has 
seen fit to leave us. I got to my office, here at the 
hospital, this morning and found a note addressed 
to you, which I hand you. Perhaps it will shed some 


FOUND AND LOST 


321 


light upon the subject as to the cause of her leaving. 
I do not understand her conduct.” 

As the doctor finished, he handed the enclosure to 
Paul, who frantically opened and read the following : 
‘‘Dear Paul : 

“I could not bear to remain and have you say to 
me that which my heart told me you would sooner or 
later say. Poor Mildred loves you with all her un- 
happy heart, but I know that it is best for me to go 
away. I cannot bear to add to my unhappiness by 
telling you that which would pain me more than I 
can ever tell you. 

“I know, now, that you will recover and that there 
is no longer a necessity for me to remain. I shall 
leave tonight for America. 

“Please, dear Paul, believe that the course I am 
pursuing is for the best. My love has been and 
will ever be, yours — but I will show it by refusing to 
impose myself upon you. I shall keep myself posted 
as to your condition. 


Mildred. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

LOVE BALANCES THE SCALES. 

HEN Paul had read the short note from 
Mildred, he for a time closed his eyes with- 
out comment. When he opened them, he 
said to the doctor: 

“My dear doctor, if you knew how seriously im- 
portant it is for me to find Mrs. Caldwell you would 
hasten my recovery if you could.” 

His voice and manner showed the great emotion 
that he felt. He felt that he was impelled to, and he 
did tell the doctor that she had been his wife and 
that she had been greatly wronged by him many 
years before; and that under a misapprehension, she 
was avoiding his overtures for a reconciliation. That 
he had vainly searched for her on the continent, and 
had only met her by reason of his accident. He read 
the line of the letter as to her intention to keep 
advised as to his condition, to the doctor. 

Immediately, the doctor said to Paul : 

“Well, it is evident that she expects to communicate 
with someone connected with the hospital. I am 
sure of that. If she does, Hanley, we will find her 
without doubt. Be of good cheer, my man, we will 
not fail.” 




LOVE BALANCES THE SCALES 


323 


Paul took much comfort In what the doctor said. 

When the other nurse was accosted by Paul, she 
professed much ignorance of the intentions of Mil- 
dred. 

He was grieved that he should so soon lose 
Mildred after finding her, and his disappointment 
became so great that it doubtless retarded his re- 
covery. 

Paul was rapidly recovering, however, notwith- 
standing his mental worry and was soon to be dis- 
charged. It was about two weeks afterward, that 
the doctor came in one morning with his face clearly 
showing that he had something of interest to say to 
Paul. He had an open letter In his hand, which had 
been addressed to Mildred’s associate nurse and 
mailed from Savannah, Ga. The letter contained 
nothing but an inquiry as to the condition of Paul. 
Mildred was reminding the nurse of her promise to 
write to her several days before, but stated that she 
had failed to receive any letter from her. She gave 
her address, concluding by saying that she would 
remain there at that address for a period of five days. 

Whether the good doctor had committed any 
violation of the Cuban laws in opening another’s 
mail was never known by Paul. Being assured that 
his condition was such that he could travel, but that 
It would be wise for someone to accompany him, 
preparations being complete, there remained only 
the procuring of some physician to attend him as he 
took the steamer that night. Paul had asked the 


324 LOVE BALANCES THE SCALES 


advice of the doctor who had been so kind to him as 
to whom he should get. 

“That has been arranged for, already, Hanley. 
There will be just as good a doctor accompanying 
you as you have had here. For, by thunder, I am 
going with you, myself. I propose seeing this thing 
through,” said the doctor with much warmth of 
feeling and interest. 

The warm gratitude shown in Paul’s face, im- 
mensely pleased the good hearted man. 

Some three days afterwards, a certain Cubanized 
American doctor, with great dignity and greater 
noise, knocked upon the door of room 24 of Hotel 
Gordon, in the city of Savannah. When the door 
was opened, two attaches of the American Marine 
Hospital of Havana, very cordially shook hands 
with each other. One of them was Mildred, who 
occupied the room. 

Her surprise at seeing Doctor Wilder at once took 
the form of alarm. It was instantly made to dis- 
appear, however, by the doctor, who said to her : 

“I have a patient down in the hotel parlor, who 
requires your immediate attention. Come on down, 
right away, because I fear that he will suffer if he 
does not get a good nurse, at once.” 

Somehow, there was but little hesitation upon the 
part of Mildred. She was attired in hat and cloak 
and descended to the parlor, which she entered. 
The doctor had led her to the door and had dis- 
creetly disappeared. 


LOVE BALANCES THE SCALES 325 


For the second time, within a month, Paul and 
Mildred were brought together. 

‘T am well again, Mildred, and I have sought 
you, to tell you that you shall never elude me again,” 
he said as he led her to a couch. 

“But Paul,” she said with her face showing intense 
sadness. “You certainly understood me when I both 
spoke and wrote to you.” 

“No, I did not understand, nor do I think my 
Mildred understood, either. For that reason I am 
here to ask you again, to come back to me and be 
the wife of the man who has both loved and wronged 
you.” 

As Paul spoke, he could see that Mildred was 
attempting to steel herself against him and he 
awaited her reply. 

For a moment, she hesitated, but as she raised her 
head and looked into his face, a strong resolution 
was depicted upon her countenance. 

“Dear Paul,” she began, “on the night before I left 
you, I never spent a more wretched and sleepless 
night. There was no presumption upon my part 
when I tell you, that when you spoke to me on the 
first day, I knew you would say that which you have 
just said — I have felt it, from the time your dear 
good wife pased away. I felt that in a reasonable 
length of time, you would come to me and tell me 
that you still loved me. I say this because I know 
and have always known since the day we met in Mr. 
McElroy’s office, just before you secured your 
divorce, when Aldine came near breaking both of our 


326 LOVE BALANCES THE SCALES 


hearts, that you still had a heart for me. And God 
knows, Paul, no moment has ever gone by without 
my heart responding to your love. I tell you now, 
I have always loved you, Paul — and dear Paul, I 
love and more than worship you now.’’ 

Before she could finish, he interrupted by saying : 

“Well, dear Mildred, when you know that both of 
us are yet bound by ” 

Mildred stopped him by saying: 

“My dear Paul, you must let me continue. There 
can be no doubt as to where my heart is and has 
always been, and that is what makes it so hard for 
me. When you were first brought into the hospital, 
and after the operation, when I could sit by your 
side, how often did I pray as I held your hand and 
stroked your forehead, and kissed your lips while 
you were lying there unconsciously suffering, that you 
would be spared. This was all because 1 loved — 
loved you. That was all. And, oh the pain of it 1 
For I knew that it must be a fruitless love! Do not 
think that I did not know that your big and generous 
heart would some day impel you to come to me. But 
I made up my mind then, that I would spare you. 
I saw then, and rriy own heart and mind told me, 
that I could never debase myself by causing you fur- 
ther unhappiness. I know my duty toward you and 
myself at this time. I could never be so guilty that I 
would take you back into the sad and gloomy past. 
Why, do you not know, Paul, that if I re-married 
you, every sight of me would be an eternal reminder 
of my sin, my curse and my everlasting damnation ? 


LOVE BALANCES THE SCALES 


327 


‘‘Can you not see that the world’s education as to 
the rights of husband and wife have two different 
standards ? And the world Is right. Whatever may 
be the standard that may permit the easy condona- 
tion of the man for all his errors and his sins, there 
Is no possible justification for the fall of his wife. 
There is but the one standard for the wife. It is the 
exaction of purity. It Is the requirement, always, of 
virtue and its reward. Do not think that I am 
preaching to you, for I know and my years of suffer- 
ing attest the full enormity of my own sin. 

“Yes, again, I say that the criterion of the world 
is correct. Mine is the deep and unforgiveable sin 
of all. And down deep in my heart, I am wondering 
If I do not, and if I ought not to think less of you, 
when I realize that you would take me back as your 
wife — me — me — me, — the adulteress, who brought 
shame upon your children and the odium of the 
world and perpetual displeasure of God as against 
myself. Think Paul ! What, indeed, what would 
the world say? It would first point Its finger of 
scorn at you and then turn upon and hiss me into the 
oblivion of hate and never ending cruelty in its 
persecution of me. Our every appearance would be 
the signal for the derision and the coldness, the 
world would have in store for both of us. 

“Can you and do you not see how utterly impossi- 
ble it Is? 

“For your sake and mine I refuse to be taken to 
your heart as your wife, again. It is your happiness 
that I am first considering. Please let me go on as 


328 LOVE BALANCES THE SCALES 


I have started — live the just exile I have sought and 
that should await me. I have sought to avoid you 
and thereby live the rest of my life as I have 
planned!” 

As the soul tortured woman continued to earnestly 
shatter every vision of his dream of happiness, Paul 
felt his heart grow weak within him. He could see 
the great determination In her face and he had not 
failed to note it in what she had said. 

Weakened as he was, however, he essayed reply. 
She had expressed views that had so many times been 
firmly fixed, and as he thought, settled in his own 
mind forever; but he had reasoned, of late, and he 
was now, with his love and his heart and felt the 
wisdom and justice of the great law of the Saviour’s 
forgiveness, easy of application. 

“Mildred,” he replied, “you spoke as If yours Is 
the unforgiveable sin. I am saying to you that with 

the precedent established by the Saviour ” 

Mildred interrupted him by saying : 

“Yes, Paul, I know the beautiful story and the 
picture portrayed of His forgiving the fallen woman. 
Indeed, It Is the one great precedent of His charity. 
But, Paul, the dijjiculty is, it is a precedent that has 
never yet been followed by the worldP 

“Listen to me, my Mildred,” replied Paul. “Your 
eagerness to condemn makes you unjust to your own 
dear self. You array the world, together with your 
self, as your enemies. You speak as though your 
sin was the only one. You consign yourself to a 
position and punishment that make you assume also 


LOVE BALANCES THE SCALES 329 


the torture for and of other’s sins. Sweet Mildred, 
I have not traversed the continent, time after time, in 
the hope of finding you, in order to remind you of 
your wrong and then say magnanimously that I 
forgive you. My own life has ever been before me. 
I too, have suffered and I can say, as have you, that 
my real heart has always been yours. I have had 
before me the first realization of love’s dream. How 
vividly my mind has always taken me back to torture 
me, I can never tell you. To me, had ever appeared 
the pride of my early love for you, and my ecstacy, 
when I saw how deeply you loved me! How my 
heart with exultation, throbbed, when I saw you as 
the loving mother of noble little Aldine 1 Ah, indeed, 
they were the happy days of a love that seemed 
adamant against all wrong. How pure, how noble, 
and oh what an angel you were when I left you to 
travel and go upon the road. Yes, upon my road to 
ruin! Do I not recall how I fell for the first time? 
May the ever loving God forgive me, do I not know 
that my own life became the living scandal of that 
part of the country? Do I not recall how, like a 
queen, you sat upon the throne of motherhood and 
love, and freely forgave that which I had so often 
denied, but finally admitted to you? Do you think 
I can forget how like the skulking knave, I made you 
smile with love, as I made promises of a reform, 
only to break them so often as opportunity appeared? 
All this time, you had never ceased to love and 
forgive me. Dearest of all women, hear me ! Up- 
permost in my mind always, has been the knowledge. 


330 LOVE BALANCES THE SCALES 


that I killed and murdered your love for me, just 
as the prosecutor said. How his words have rung in 
my ears ! Could I have only been true ! That is an 
answer to all your objections. Mine was the crime 
against you and mine. 

“I care not what the world may say. I have come 
to you and I am asking that you forgive me. I 
scorn the miserable cant of the hypocrisy of the 
world. Let us have done with that which is the 
living lie. I, who have trampled the purity of your 
love for me under my feet, who deserted you and 
my own, who wrecked and made impossible happiness 
for you, and who caused the first tears and heart- 
aches, I, the father of Aldine and George, ask 
merely that you may forget my own infamy and that 
you may forgive me. 

“Yes, I know the falsehood that the world has ever 
taught and that it breathes now. Its education and its 
oppression have made the eyes of the nobility of 
womanhood fail ever, to see the sins of her husband. 
The world has always commanded that she must ever 
condone whatever might be the transgressions of 
man. It has extended a privilege to man and punish- 
ment to woman, and at the same time ever requiring 
her to unceasingly keep her own house in order. 

“But I prefer to align myself, not with the ‘world,’ 
but with Him who has taught the justice of His own 
laws of love and charity to mankind. Woman must 
not be compelled always to suffer and condone, with- 
out recompense. I prefer to adopt His standard — 


LOVE BALANCES THE SCALES 


331 


that of the one law and the one love. Ah, my dear 
Mildred, must woman ever and man never forgive?^* 
Paul had taken Mildred into his arms and with her 
head resting upon his breast and looking with 
beaming love into his face, she yielded to the affection 
he was now bestowing upon her. Paul’s argument 
had prevailed. 

Love had balanced the scales and Mildred was a 
happy woman once again. 

THE END. 


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